Reluctantly Willing
by Lucifer Rosemaunt
Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO film . A bit of R/C yeah . General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after.
1. to wait

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after.

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Hi all. waves sheepishly. I'm only doing this out of an obligation of a deal I made with a friend. So, I figure you shouldn't be too mad that I'll be writing two different fics instead of finishing one twice as fast. It wouldn't work that well. I promise – trust me. So I hope you can enjoy this.

Story note: This is an ErikRaoul fic (surprise, do I write anything else?). Technically, I have only mentally prepared for the first two chapters of this story (That's what happens when I'm rushed). We'll just have to find out together where these guys take us.

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Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 01 - … to wait

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

"I'm just not ready," Christine yelled. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

She stood by the fireplace glaring at him. Raoul stared at her in disbelief; you would think that he had just asked her to have premarital relations. He had just asked if she wanted to have a picnic tomorrow. He turned away from her to gather his thoughts; this was getting absurd. No, it had been absurd for a while; it was just now getting tiring.

Christine had moved into his household shortly after the fire engulfed the Opera Populaire; he had offered and she had, at the time, gladly accepted with a hug. He had been excited, but perhaps it had only been the adrenaline that made her accept.

Their flight from the tunnels of the opera house had been a blur. In fact, the happenings in the recesses of the opera house had gone by in a blink of the eye. One second he had been there trying to save Christine and the next Christine trying to save him. Then they were gone.

While he couldn't exactly agree with her methods to save him, the jealousy and disgust he had felt at seeing her kissing the opera ghost hadn't been enough to make Raoul stop loving her. It didn't exactly make him love her more, even though such compassion was admirable, but whenever Raoul saw her, he would think of the opera ghost and the price of their freedom. Simply put, Raoul was a man whose mind refused to forget past transgressions.

He would never forget that Christine kissed the man, and yes, Raoul was willing to admit that the ghost was a man and not some monster. "Poor wretched man", as Christine had taken to calling him at times, however, was a title that Raoul would never give him. His past was heartrending; or at least, it would be if the man hadn't turned out how he had. Raoul couldn't pity a man who had decided the best way to continue with his life was to trick a young girl into believing he was an angel. He had built his life on lies and deceit, not to mention murder. Yet, in the end, he had tried to redeem himself. Raoul scoffed. Too little, too late. The damage was done, really.

Raoul would never forget the kiss, but he thought himself strong enough that he could live with it and move on with their life together. Or, he _would _live with it and move on with their life together if Christine let them. It had been weeks since the fire. Christine barely allowed him to touch her much less kiss her and even that had grown more infrequent. He thought he had given her enough time to get over the stress, over the trauma. A week after had seemed sufficient for at least some hand holding or maybe even sitting side by side or something.

She had pulled away though, was still pulling away from. Maybe the space he had given her in the beginning had only proved to hurt her more, hurt them more.

He loved her. It should've been enough that they were now together. However, the room that was supposed to be hers, the one right beside his bedroom with a door between them (not like he would have used it right now), was now his den. Christine had requested that she have the actual den, the room that was on the opposite end of the second floor from his own bedroom. He'd conceded of course. It would have seemed like he was going to do something if he had insisted otherwise.

He thought he knew why she had wanted that room though. It was the nightmares. Sometimes when he couldn't sleep, which was often nowadays, he would walk the hallways. His feet automatically went to her room and there, he would hear her whimpers and sometimes tears. He didn't know if hers were actually nightmares. Perhaps, she cried because she had left behind her angel. Raoul couldn't tell, almost didn't want to be able to. But his were nightmares. His nights were filled with the opera ghost succeeding, killing him, stealing Christine. They were of Christine being happy with making the other choice, the choice that wasn't life with him. It felt like she was making that choice now, regardless. He loved her though and love persisted, didn't it? He pushed aside his doubts, refused to sleep so that those doubts wouldn't' be flaunted in his face, and tried to make her understand.

"I don't understand why we cannot simply be together," Raoul replied, "I'm not pressing for marriage right now." Of course he wasn't, what was the point of the marriage if his fiancé wouldn't go any closer than arm's distance from him. "I'm asking you to allow us to speak and spend our days like we used to. I miss hearing you laugh. Can we not still be friends while we wait?"

He missed a lot of things: her laugh, her smile, her voice. He missed her light.

Christine quieted. She shook her head and in a soft voice replied, "Things aren't like they used to be, Raoul. We cannot go back to being children."

Those words were like a slap to his face. He knew they weren't children any longer, knew that they had changed. But it felt as though she had changed without him; she had changed and simply discarded her past. No more reminiscing together – without that… he felt stricken. Their past had bound them closely together. He thought that their trial with the ghost would have had the same effect, but instead, it had created a rift between them. Without their past, what else was there?

She was right, they _had_ changed. He almost couldn't recognize this woman who stood in front of him. Where was the woman who sang her everlasting love for him? Who promised to share one love, one lifetime?

Raoul wasn't naïve enough to believe that things would have just fallen into place after they left the opera house and that man, but he had thought that after that ordeal, they would be able to overcome anything, everything. Sure, they were different people now. She had become a different person entirely, but if anything were to remain of her old self, he thought that she would still loved him

"Do you," Raoul hesitated to say the words. It was for the best though. He loved Christine still. Loved her enough to selfishly want her by his side always but also unfortunately enough to let her leave if she truly were miserable, and wasn't that what she was right now? She hardly spoke, hardly ate, hardly did anything but stare off into space, "do you wish to cancel the engagement?"

At least she looked conflicted. Christine stared at the ring Raoul had given her. Slowly taking it off, she finally approached him, closer than she had dared to come in almost two weeks.

Raoul found it ironic that it would be in a moment when she was ripping out his heart.

She smiled ruefully, "I love you, Raoul."

He laughed harshly at that, couldn't help but do so as he took the ring from her. She had made as little contact as possible.

"Can we simply be engaged to be engaged?"

Staring at her in shock, Raoul couldn't believe this woman. Engaged to be engaged? It sounded as good as an idea as the 'secret engagement' had turned out to be. Still, he found himself nodding. Hope. That was what she was giving him. She took everything of herself away, withdrawn from him. Yet, she still gave him hope that there could be something more.

"Would you like for me to stay with Meg instead?" Christine asked.

It took a second for him to respond, but Raoul shook his head. "This is your home, too, Christine." He tried smiling, but it came out as more of a grimace, "You can stay here as long as you wish."

"Thank you." She looked relieved.

He remembered a time when that thank you would have been accompanied by a simple touch to his arm. Even that small touch, he was denied.

He could wait. The love he had for her didn't burn as brightly with all the pain and suffering they had gone through; it flickered and wavered nowadays, but it still burned. He didn't _want_ to, but he would wait. Wait even longer than was normal because she wasn't ready.

He was tired of fighting any way, but now – he looked at his Little Lotte – now, he almost couldn't bear the sight of her. Their engaged to be engaged promise settled bitterly in his chest.

This would be the first time, but this time, he chose to walk away from _her_ and leave the conversation.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 01

Word count: 1,483

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: What the hell is Raoul's problem, being in love with her like that? She's only stringing him along (well, who knows what her motives are just yet, but dang). This makes me feel all kinds of bad for Raoul.

Author review: LOL, sorry, I know this is random, but I found it hilarious that in this story, Raoul can't forget when in Imaginary Friends it seems like that's the only thing he does consistently (forget, that is). This is a continuation of one of the Alphabet Game entries… can you guess which one. You'll know by next chapter.


	2. to help

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: As expected, this post is one day late (had to rush it or else I wouldn't be able to work on IF).

Story note: Erik makes his appearance (a really small appearance), but this chapter is really Raoul-centric.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 02 - … to help

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

It had been five days since their engaged to be engaged conversation. Today, the fifth day, Raoul stood just outside the front entrance of his home silently watching as Christine entered a carriage without once looking back. He waved nonetheless with a self-loathing smile in place.

He didn't bother trying to look on the bright side; there were only facts. She wasn't leaving for good, simply going to spend a day or two at the Giry household. It wasn't like anything would change.

His home was large. He'd always thought it was more than he would ever really need; still, he liked having the space to take long walks on his grounds. Yet, he never thought it was large enough that two people would be able to spend days never seeing each other.

In the last three days, Raoul's and Christine's paths had not crossed. Not once. Raoul was certain it was deliberate on Christine's part so after the second day, he stopped seeking her out. Instead, he continued with his day, spending it conducting business and pondering what was wrong with his relationship with Christine. He'd yet to come to a final conclusion about the latter, though he'd gone through every aspect of their relationship in the past and their non-existent relationship in the present – after all, to have a relationship, you'd actually have to see each other or at least communicate.

So, seeing her leave shouldn't have affected him very much. He would simply continue on as he would have, but just the knowledge that she was no longer on his estate saddened him. He was losing hope and even the false hope of their engaged to be engaged was fading rather quickly.

It was laughable really that the reason for her departure, temporary as it was, was because she felt that having the entire household between them was still too close. Too close.

Raoul wondered how much more of this he could stand. It hurt to be near her. It hurt to be apart from her. It just hurt. Everything about Christine just bombarded him with conflicting emotions.

Love wasn't supposed to be like this. At least reciprocated love wasn't supposed to be, and maybe that was where the answer to their problems lay. He didn't want to admit it even to himself though that Christine might not love him in return. Why would she give him that hope if she didn't think she could love him?

He waited until the carriage was out of sight, hoping that maybe at the end of the driveway she would look back. It wouldn't have fixed anything, but it would have softened the blow from the fact that he had learned of her departure from the butler the morning that she was leaving and that the same butler had been the one to tell him the reason of her departure.

She didn't look back. In fact, as she had gotten into the carriage, he was certain that he'd actually seen her smiling, happy to be getting away.

He couldn't stand it any more. He needed to get away, maybe a walk was in order; it would help him clear his mind. He needed to spend some time away from his own estate. The building only reminded him that he and Christine had grown more distant than he had thought possible for two people living together in the same house.

o.o.o

Erik almost laughed aloud. He would have if it had not hurt so much to breathe much less laugh.

Had he been under the opera house for so long that he'd forgotten that there were in fact more evil things in the darkness of the night than himself? Those 'others' were the main reason Erik was who he was now; he shouldn't have thought so highly of himself.

He'd left the opera house after a long internment in the cellar after Christine had left, after the Vicomte had left, after the mob had left, after they'd all left, and he'd been left alone. He hadn't eaten in days because he'd not only had no appetite but also because there'd been no food to eat. So, instead of dying just yet, he decided to scrounge for some sort of meal when his stomach felt as though it was beginning to eat itself.

All it had taken was a well-placed stone to his head and three men who had realized much too late that he had nothing to offer them but a fright. They left him on the floor surrounded by filth in a dark alley unable to move.

To die in such a way. Erik knew the blow to his pride would have had more impact had he not lost all his pride when he let the Vicomte take away his Christine. His mind was growing fuzzy and he was certain he had passed out several times already, but there was a warm hand on his head, one that was not trying to hurt him.

He struggled to open his eyes to see who would bestow such a kindness to him. All he could see was a hooded figure. For a second he thought he saw a flash of blonde hair, but when he tried to look again, he realized it was too dark to notice such things.

Erik was hauled onto his feet, the kind stranger swayed slightly. He knew he was dead weight, but his legs weren't listening to him. It was struggle to stay conscious at all and sooner than he expected he lost what slight hold he had on it.

o.o.o

Raoul had been walking the whole day. Glad that he had the foresight to have taken his cloak, he pulled the hood low over his head so that no one would recognize him. At least then, he wouldn't have to take time out of his sulking to converse with others. He was no closer to clarity than he had been in the morning. He was only hungry, angry, and tired on top of being confused.

So lost in thought, he almost didn't stop walking fast enough when three men ran out of the alley almost knocking into him. They didn't bother apologizing and Raoul watched them go dispassionately. It simply took too much energy to get angry, but their haste did pique his interest.

Slowly, he turned into the alley. There was hardly any light, but on the floor, he could see a body, unmoving. He paused, unsure as to how to continue. He should call the police or walk away and pretend to have not seen anything, like any of his peers would have. After all, the man looked to be wearing rags.

The man groaned, and Raoul couldn't help think that this man might actually feel worse than he did at the moment. While Raoul's pain could only be healed by Christine, perhaps, he could help this man.

Moving closer, Raoul was shocked when he saw blood on the floor. He could only see the back of the man's head and the matted hair from where the trail of blood originated. Glancing to his left, he saw the stone that had been used to hit the stranger. It was probably some sort of robbery. Who would think this man had any money on him was a mystery to him though.

Gently cradling his head, Raoul turned him onto his back and gasped. Luckily for the ghost, he managed to stifle his immediate reaction, which was to drop the man's head back onto the floor. The ghost's eyes fluttered open for a moment before shutting again.

Raoul's hands were shaking as he placed the ghost's head back onto the floor. The desire to help faded. Taking several steps away from him, Raoul took in a shaky breath and tried to block out the image of the man's face from his mind's eye. Honestly, that face disturbed him greatly, but it wasn't the disgust that had gotten to him; it was the shock. He… God, he couldn't even say that he had not once thought of the man since they had left. He thought about the ghost constantly whether it was because of the nightmares or because he was trying to place the blame of Christine's aloofness on him. Of course he'd thought of the ghost.

He couldn't help this man. He just couldn't.

Turning away to walk out of the alley, Raoul paused. The man deserved to die… because what? He had murdered people. He had burned down the opera house. He had destroyed his relationship with Christine.

Two out of three wasn't so bad. Unfortunately, Raoul knew that the gradual erosion of his relationship with Christine could not be _all _the ghost's fault. How could the man have destroyed their relationship when he hadn't been around for the past several weeks? The Vicomte had of course considered the fact that maybe it was because Christine had lingering attachments to the ghost that they were drifting further apart, but even then, wouldn't it be Christine's fault? She had stopped trying to have a relationship with Raoul completely.

It didn't mean that Raoul had to hate the man any less than he already did. And, if Raoul just left him there, then technically, he wouldn't have been the one to kill the ghost. He could simply turn a blind eye.

Glancing over his shoulder, Raoul looked at the state of the ghost. He looked like he had hardly eaten. The man was dirty and unfortunately for Raoul, he wore no mask.

Poor wretched man indeed. Raoul hated the fact that he could think that without any sarcasm.

He took a step away expecting to hear another groan of some sort, but the man was silent. Raoul stopped and turned around. The ghost was also not moving. A mix of satisfaction and dread filled him. If the ghost were dead, then he wouldn't have to worry about saving or killing him. He could just walk away as though nothing had happened. Then again, could he really have this death on his conscience? The man was defenseless and probably hadn't even provoked those men.

Why was this such a difficult decision for him? He hated the man, right? He would have gladly killed him that night given the opportunity, but that was weeks ago. Most of that rancor had faded. He was bitter about being caught so easily by that Punjab lasso. He was annoyed that Christine had kissed him, but most of his feelings towards the man had dulled. Most of his feelings in general had dulled, pared down by his constant battles with Christine. It was simply too much to keep feeling so strongly when he was rebutted at every turn. He couldn't even hate the ghost properly.

And when it came down to it, Raoul had won in the end; if this could be called winning.

Raoul crouched by the ghost and couldn't help it when his hand reached forward to place on the man's forehead; he was cold to the touch. Those eyes fluttered open momentarily again, too unfocused to really see anything, but Raoul could almost swear that he was begging for help. Odd. Raoul would have thought that if anyone had a reason to want to die, it would be this man. Yet, with nothing left, the man still fought, fought harder than Raoul was doing.

Closing his eyes, Raoul hesitated. He could say that he was doing this for Christine. It would be the easy way to convince himself that what he was doing wasn't completely stupid. She would hate him if he let her angel die, but he didn't want to do things for Christine any more. He just couldn't leave him like this. When the man was better, then Raoul would perhaps kill him then in a fair fight.

Mind made up, he took the ghost's own cloak to fling it over the man's face so that no one would see his face. Slinging the man's arm over his shoulder, Raoul struggled under the man's weight. The ghost wasn't helping him at all. He tried to think of an easier way of carrying him, but the easiest way would be to find a horse. It was too late and Raoul did not want to have to answer any questions. Instead, he maneuvered the ghost to be draped over his back. Grabbing the man's arms over his shoulders, Raoul hefted him up higher. For someone who looked like he hadn't eaten in a while, he was surprisingly heavy. Stumbling, he headed back towards the street until he realized that he had no idea where he was planning to go. He couldn't bring him to a hospital. The police had stopped looking, but if a deformed man suddenly appeared, they would surely suspect. It wouldn't be difficult for someone to recognize the ghost after his unmasking.

God, the man was such a pain. He made everything difficult, even when Raoul was trying to help him. Raoul tried not to think about why he was going through so much trouble to help him at all. His mind was made up and he would follow through with it.

He could… he ran through all the possible scenarios in his mind. The ghost needed attention, but he couldn't have anyone else see him. Maybe he could go to Madame Giry; certainly, she would take him in. She had been the one harboring him after all.

Then, he realized that Christine was there. He might be saving the man, but he was not going to be the one to bring them together. There really was only one last place he could bring the ghost, his own home. Raoul sighed. Even when Christine returned, she avoided him all the time; she actually avoided his side of the house entirely. It wouldn't be too difficult to hide the ghost there.

Now, if only he could make it back to his estate.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 02

Word count: 2,334

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Well, if you don't know what Alphabet Game day this coincides with, you haven't been paying attention. No virtual cookie for you. Poor confused Raoul.


	3. to heal

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Yes, this chapter was rushed. I hope you enjoy it since I will not be deterred on taking that extra week as a break.

Story note: Short chapter, but I was grinning by the end of it.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 03 - … to heal

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Raoul hadn't thought he could do it, but somehow, he made it up the driveway and into his home. Admittedly, he'd taken more breaks than he'd wanted just to arrive, but the ghost was not making it any easier by being unconscious and if that damp spot on his shoulder was any indication, drooling on him. He just hoped it wasn't blood – honestly though, he was torn as to whether he wanted it to be blood or not. Taking so long had the added advantage of hopefully arriving so late that no one would be awake. So far, no one had bothered to stop them.

Now that he was in his home and in front of the stairs, he just couldn't see how this was going to happen. There were _a lot_ of stairs, more than he remembered ever having. His shoulders hurt and his legs were about to give out already. The sitting room was beginning to look rather convenient, but there was no other choice but to make it upstairs if he wanted to keep the ghost a secret. Adjusting the ghost higher on his back, he tugged at the man's arms.

"Vicomte?"

Raoul turned to his left slowly, wondering just how odd this must look. It was his butler.

"Do you…" the butler reminded himself that it was not his place to pry in his employer's business, "Do you require assistance?"

Hesitating for just a second, Raoul nodded. The butler took the ghost's arm and shifted him so that the ghost's weight was distributed equally between them. Raoul made certain the cloak was still covering the ghost's face and the butler didn't ask any questions about who the stranger was. Getting up the stairs was significantly easier.

"The den," Raoul said softly, looking around suspiciously hoping that no one else was awake.

There was no bed in the den, but Raoul just pointed to the floor. It was better than the alley, so the ghost would simply have to accept whatever Raoul had.

The older man straightened his clothing before asking, "Is there anything else you require?"

Raoul shook his head and waited until the butler left the room before falling onto the nearest seat. Leaning his head against the backrest, he closed his eyes. What was he doing? Who did he think he was? He wasn't this kind. Definitely not regarding this man.

Rolling his shoulders back to relieve some of the tension that had gathered, he paused to peek at the man currently sprawled on his floor. Raoul would help him until he was better enough to leave. He guessed it would be more like until the ghost tried to kill him – because even he drew the line at helping an ingrate. He highly doubted that anything good would come from this, but the man had wanted to live. And for that moment when their eyes met, the ghost had _only _been a person in need. They hadn't had their sordid past and Raoul felt like he could actually do something; he could help heal this man, be of some use. He was needed again in the way that Christine hadn't needed him since they left the opera house, and it felt good.

Standing up, he hesitatingly pulled the cloak off the ghost's face. With his face covered, Raoul could imagine that it was simply some stranger he was helping and that would make his life that much easier, but his life was far from easy, and he couldn't fight the compulsion to take a closer look at the ghost's face. He tugged off the cloth, holding his breath.

Surprisingly, he didn't recoil from the sight. He had seen it before already, and in his dreams, the ghost was always mask-less. He supposed some sort of immunity to it was bound to occur. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was reaching forward to touch the man's deformity. A knock on the door made him jerk his hand back quickly. Flinging the cloak back over the ghost, he opened the door just a fraction.

The butler stood there, his arms completely full of blankets and other items. Raoul opened the door to let the man in, who placed the items on his desk.

Raoul stared at him in confusion.

"You brought him here to help him, right?"

Raoul nodded.

"This should be everything you need for the evening. I woke the cook to heat you up some soup."

"No need to trouble her."

The butler pinned him with a stare, "It's no trouble. It would have been dinner had you been here, and I'm sure the gentleman would want something to eat."

Raoul looked down at the ghost as an after thought. "Of course, he must be hungry." He had completely forgotten the state the ghost had been in. Food would definitely be necessary, but he would have to wait until he woke up before they could do that. He wasn't about to feed the man himself.

The butler left without another word.

Sighing, Raoul went over to the things the butler had brought. There were extra blankets, bandages, a pitcher of water, and towels. His gaze fell to the ghost again. All this for a man who tried to kill him on more than one occasion.

Crouching down with a purpose, Raoul yanked off the cloak to stare at the ghost's face. Quickly, before he could reconsider or the butler knocked on the door again, he touched the ghost's deformity. Gently, he skimmed his fingertips over the ridges of irregular skin near his forehead. The skin was smooth near the top of his head, indicating that there had never been any hair to begin with near the deformity. The man had been wearing a wig after all. It shouldn't have been that surprising, but the other side of his head really was completely normal. He ran his fingers through the ghost's hair; it was a little oily. Apparently, he hadn't been taking very good care of himself.

Reaching behind the ghost's head, Raoul checked if the ghost was still bleeding. Checking his fingers, he saw that the blood was already drying; the only thing he would need to do was clean the wound and wrap it. Laying the man back down, Raoul stared at him some more, focusing on his deformity. If only he could heal this part of the ghost as well. It was a stupid idea of course, but none of them would be in their current situation if this man had not been deformed. Life would be simpler. Christine and he would be married… he paused at the thought. Maybe they wouldn't have been. There was a whole chain of events that had brought them together and this man was the center of all that.

Knowing that he'd done what he'd set out to do with checking the man, his next step should have been to move away, but he couldn't seem to stop the exploration of the man's face as his fingers lowered to the man's cheek. There was a particularly deep trench in his cheek, the skin rising up unnaturally, affecting even the ghost's nose. He followed every ridge and dip from the man's skull to around his eyes and lips and jaw. He felt the toughness of the skin in some parts and the smoothness in other parts. The deformity reached back towards the man's ear, and Raoul followed it even there. The ghost's skin was cold, warming up by fractions when his fingers revisited the areas on the ghost's face. He traced the deformity over and over again, finding new things at every pass; he traced until his fingers memorized the feel of it beneath his fingers.

He was caught up in complete fascination of how the deformity no longer seemed strange, but rather it fit the man. It was part of the ghost and not entirely unnatural. Raoul grinned as his fingers stroked the particularly scarlike indentation at the ghost's temple before realizing he was actually touching someone. Not just anyone. He was touching the ghost.

Pulling his hand back as though burned, Raoul couldn't get it to stop tingling. He could still feel the ghost beneath his fingers.

God, had he been so deprived of human contact that he would stoop so low as to touch the ghost?

Raoul scrambled away from the man, knocking into the desk. The ghost hadn't moved given any sign that he was waking, for which Raoul was very glad. His heart was pounding and he couldn't quite look at the ghost for longer than a glance. He hadn't even realized what he'd been doing. Well, of course he'd known he was touching the ghost. It seemed like he had a right considering the fact that he was helping the man. But… why wouldn't his hand stop tingling?

Pacing a few steps away and then back. He jumped when someone knocked on his door. He strode over to the welcome distraction before remembering to cover the ghost's face. Opening the door, he quickly took the two bowls of soup from the butler.

Peeking past the Vicomte, the butler raised an eyebrow, "He's still on the floor."

Raoul looked at the ghost, nodding. "I was just getting there."

"Do you need assistance? He probably needs to be cleaned as well," the butler offered.

Shaking his head firmly, Raoul began closing the door. "I'll do it all myself," as an after thought he added, "We must keep this secret."

The butler nodded without hesitation. He had figured as much, considering the Vicomte had come in the middle of the night, dragging a stranger along. It would only make sense to keep it a secret.

Sighing, Raoul was glad it had been his butler who had been awake. Before shutting the door, he said, "Thank you."

Placing the bowls of soup down on his desk, he looked back at the ghost. There was no way he could just leave the ghost lying in the middle of his floor without some blankets or a pillow. After all, he told himself that he would help the man. There were a lot of things to do; good thing he rarely slept nowadays. It would have been nice to have some help, but he couldn't truly trust anyone with this particular secret. The less everyone knew, the better. When he reached for the sheets, he frowned seeing that his hands were shaking.

Heal the ghost, kick him out, and then kill him. That was the plan. That was the only thing he would do.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 03

Word count: 1,769

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Massively Raoul-centric. He's kind of pervy touching Erik while he's unconscious.


	4. to hide

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Sorry for being late again. I get distracted (no really though… I need a babysitter) when I don't have someone yelling at me to keep track of what I'm supposed to be doing.

Story note: You know… all these chapters are short, so I'll just stop saying short chapter here. Raoul's trying to be the good guy in this chapter. Stupid Christine.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 04 - … to hide

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Raoul jerked awake. Looking around in confusion for a second, he realized he was in his own den. The steady breathing he heard surprisingly only served to calm him, a fact he would rather not think about. He'd fallen asleep in his chair again, even after he told himself that he would sleep in his own bed. In the past two days, he found himself interned in his study trying to conduct business while still watching over the ghost. Watching the ghost had taken precedence to his dismay, but no matter how many times he told himself he should leave the ghost alone, he had learned that when the man was unconscious, he was really good company.

Wiping the drool that had gathered on his cheek, he stretched out the kink in his neck before standing up to check on his patient. The last two days, the opera ghost had been sleeping in his den, and for those two days, the man had barely stayed conscious enough to do anything for himself. It was aggravating really, considering this was a grown man he was taking care of. Raoul didn't know why the man refused to stay awake, but the most he had ever gotten out of the ghost was half-lidded eyes and a few mumbled words. There had been the swung arm that had hit him, but Raoul was certain that had been due to a dream.

What was more disturbing than the ghost's continued state of unconsciousness was the fact that Raoul had actually gotten comfortable with the new routine of having to take care of him, and it had only been two days. There was no tediousness in the actions – though there were moments of irritation and discomfort. The silence had even given Raoul more time to think, but this time, the unsettled feeling he'd had with the silence around Christine had all but vanished. He felt calm, almost like it was only now that he could finally think clearly. Perhaps it was because he didn't feel like an intruder in his own household any longer.

Whatever the reason, this unexpected change was better than his old routine; that was certain. Pretending that Christine was not in his house had been about as easy as ignoring the ghost's presence in his den. While he had learned that it was ultimately better to do his best to ignore Christine's presence – since it was better than perpetually wondering what was wrong with their relationship -, Raoul found that he didn't need to ignore the ghost's.

He found himself having rather one-sided conversations with the man, but anything was better than the silence he had been forced to live in. It wasn't as though Raoul told the ghost anything specific, and if he so happened to curse at him just to vent his frustrations, then it was a good thing that the ghost was unconscious and wouldn't realize anything.

It was only fair after all. Two entire days of having to deal with him. Maybe the ghost would ask about the bruise on his cheek when he awoke, but that had been Raoul's prerogative after all. He'd been _worried_ about the ghost's well-being – he'd really thought that a strike to the cheek would certainly wake the ghost.

Much of his anger and hatred had actually burned out in the afternoon of the day after Raoul had carried the ghost back to his estate. A man could only yell so much at an unconscious person before he grew tired of not having a response. Raoul almost missed the disdain in the man's eyes and his arrogance. Almost. It certainly would have made yelling more satisfying if he knew the ghost had actually heard any of it. But all he'd accomplished was to make his servants question his sanity; something he was beginning to question himself.

Crouching beside the man who had slept in a more comfortable position than he had, Raoul gently placed his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Monsieur."

No response. Raoul hadn't really been expecting one. He shook him harder and immediately regretted it when the ghost groaned. Raoul froze, but the ghost didn't show any other signs of waking.

Shaking his head, Raoul wondered at his reaction. He should _want _the ghost to wake up. Life was so much better with him asleep though.

"You owe me a lot for what I'm doing for you. You better remember that when you wake up," he said, leaning over the ghost and touching his face, more specifically, his deformity. For some reason, Raoul was drawn to it every time he was near the ghost. Probably because it had held such horror for him before, and now, it only brought him mixed emotions; none of which was fear or disgust.

"I think Christine would have chosen you without this," he said, tracing over the bumpy skin. He found himself saying that several times a day to him. It was the truth, and as much as it had hurt the first time the words left his mouth, saying them now only served as a reminder of who they were. It was odd, but Raoul found himself forgetting the role he played in their odd little story sometimes. The man in front of him was supposed to be his enemy. Christine, his love. And, he was supposed to be the hero of sorts; nowadays, he never felt like it. He had saved Christine, hadn't he? Then, why couldn't he be happy? Why couldn't she be happy with where they were now?

He laughed harshly. She was probably happy being away from the estate right now. That was going to change today though.

Christine was to return today, and there was no small amount of bitterness in that thought. Part of it was due to the fact that he had decided she had a right to know that the ghost was here. He had spent much of the two days thinking about what to say to Christine and what would be the best course of action. There was little choice. He could hide it, but she deserved to know. There was no more reason to keep the man a secret. It wasn't like they were actually engaged any more. At least with this knowledge, Christine would have to make a definite choice. There would be no more engaged to be engaged charade.

It was almost ironic because she had supposedly already made the decision between them. Now, she would have to choose again. This time though, he'd force her to really make a choice because it wasn't fair to him that she should choose him and at the same time refuse to be in the same room as him.

He was waiting by the front door when she arrived, hidden from direct sight. He watched her undisturbed for a moment, reveling in the smile and light in her eyes as she walked it. This was the Christine he remembered, the Christine he never saw after Don Juan Triumphant. When he walked into her line of sight, the smile immediately disappeared.

Hesitatingly she said, "Hello, Raoul. I didn't see you there."

He reigned in the sarcastic remark and unexpected hostility he felt towards her. Instead, he smiled, trying to ignore the change of her demeanor at the mere sight of him.

"Hello, Christine. How was your visit?"

She shrugged and walked right by him heading up the stairs to her room.

"Christine," he hated that nowadays, the only way he said her name was either to curse her in his head or to plead with her.

"It was nice," she paused and glanced over her shoulder, tersely replying, "I'm awfully tired though, perhaps we should speak later."

"I have to speak with you right now," Raoul pressed. He needed to do this now before he lost track of her completely in his own estate. What he really wanted was for her to talk to him, to really talk to him without feeling obligated to do so.

She took another step forward before turning around fully to look at him in exasperation.

He couldn't stand to look at her. Looking at the banister, he started, "There's something, someone…"

Her eyes widened. Cutting him off, she said, "I said not right now."

She turned and climbed the stairs before he could say anything else to her. He stood there stunned until the slam of her door reached his ears. It was then that he finally realized he shouldn't just stand there.

Slowly walking up the stairs, he headed for the den instead of his room like he usually did when he and Christine managed to find the time to meet and fight. He stared accusatorily at the ghost before slumping down into the chair.

He would never be able to find her now; in fact, he didn't want to find her at all. It wasn't his fault that she wouldn't listen to him. It wasn't his fault if she didn't know that the ghost was alive and in fact living in the very same house.

The ghost would just be his secret. If she didn't want to know, then he wouldn't tell her. He could force her to decide later. It was better this way.

He stood up and slammed his chair down into the ground to punctuate the thought.

At the sound, the ghost groaned, this time opening his eyes fully.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 04

Word count: 1,574

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Uh, not the best work done, but what's done is done. I needed to post something.


	5. to talk

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Yeah, I actually posted a non-POTO fic (first time ever!), but don't worry, POTO will not suffer! It's meant to be a oneshot anyway.

Story note: So, Erik's finally waking up. Finally.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 05 - … to talk

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Raoul stared at the ghost in dread.

The man's eyes opened fully, but thankfully, his gaze swept across the room rather quickly. Raoul realized that the man probably wasn't seeing anything as his eyes slid shut again. There was no doubt about it though; he _was _waking up.

His mind racing, Raoul ran through the possible reactions the ghost could have when he woke up fully. In more than several of them, Raoul was going to be attacked, more than several things would be broken in their struggle, and the noise would attract several curious servants and maybe Christine. He had the upper hand of course, considering the ghost _had_ to be a little weak from having been asleep for so long. Then again, he was the ghost. It was never good to underestimate the man – he had learned that the hard way after all.

A knock on the door made him wince, but the ghost barely even looked in that direction. Afraid that any movement would only call attention to himself, Raoul hesitated to answer it. Answering the door also meant that he would have to turn his back on the ghost and that seemed rather imprudent at the moment. However, he knew who it was behind the door, the butler with their lunch, and the man would not leave until said food was delivered. Another knock on the door confirmed his suspicions.

Keeping an eye on the restless ghost, Raoul opened the door barely a fraction before grabbing the tray of food and shutting the door with a quick thank you. The butler hadn't been able to get a word in at all. He didn't bother wondering what was wrong with the Vicomte this time, only shook his head and left to see if Mademoiselle Daae was ready for lunch.

o.o.o

Erik opened his eyes but for some reason, they wouldn't focus. He squeezed them shut when the pounding of his head was exacerbated by the light. Deep breaths helped him relax while he tried to take a mental inventory of the state of his body. It felt heavy, everything weighed down. The gnawing pain of hunger had disappeared; he was a little hungry, but nothing compared to what had actually driven him out of the opera house. Besides his headache, nothing else seemed to be injured, though there was a persistent ache throughout his body and he couldn't deny the desire to sleep for several days.

Opening his eyes slowly a second time, he winced and waited none too patiently for his sight to clear. His head felt as though someone had tried to split it open. From what he remembered, they had been using a rock to do so. Groaning, Erik tried to raise his hand up to shade his eyes from the light, but the effort it took to raise the limb seemed too much. There was no way that he could do it. He turned his hand palm up and grabbed onto the blanket that was covering him.

Why was there a blanket on top of him? What had happened? In the alley near the opera house, several thieves had attacked him. The last thing he rightly remembered was the pain as it blossomed from his skull and a warm hand on his forehead. But someone had been trying to help him, carried him even.

Being helped was a novel thought that made Erik question how hard he'd been hit on the head with a rock. Taking in his surroundings, he saw that he was no longer in the alley. He should have realized it with the lack of noise, but his mind was still just trying to catch up with him.

Prison? Perhaps, someone found him and called the police, but he was warm. He was comfortable. Turning his head slightly, he saw that he was lying on the floor. It couldn't be a hospital then. There was a desk to his right and a chair. Definitely wasn't a prison.

The sound of a door closing caught his attention, he turned his head to the left and saw a man's back.

Blonde hair. He narrowed his eyes. He'd seen a flash of blonde before losing consciousness. It had belonged to the warm hand; an unfamiliar feeling filled him at the mere thought, sort of like the warmth from the man's hand that he'd felt on his forehead but this warmth spread throughout his whole body, settling somewhere in his chest. Someone _had _been trying to help him, and as much as he hated being weak, he couldn't deny that it felt almost pleasurable to know someone had cared enough to look past his face to help him. It had been pleasurable to be touched with such care. Even Christine's touch had been a little desperate, a little scared. And even though he couldn't remember everything that had happened that night, the feeling of the steady hand on his forehead was unmistakable.

The immediate thought that there was a catch to such kindness came to the forefront of his mind. No one helped him without wanting something in return; that wasn't how the world worked. The warmth pushed aside his skepticism though; it pointed out that he had not been shackled, that he was not bleeding out on the floor, that he was relatively comfortable. He could have very well died in that alley; at the time, he thought he was finally going to die and an angel had come to get him. Even with Christine gone, he didn't want to die just yet. More wallowing needed to be done. Still, he needed to know who this blonde was and why he'd been helped.

He tried to call out, "Monsieur," but no sound came from him. He cleared his throat to try again, trying to swallow some spit to smooth the passageway.

The sound startled the man who turned around quickly, a tray in his hands.

The words Erik had been about to say died in his throat. It was the Vicomte. Immediately, Erik glared and tried pushing himself up even though his body protested at the very thought. He didn't very get far, and the only thing he accomplished was pushing the blanket down. His vision blurred again, and he realized belatedly that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Reluctantly, he laid back down and waited for the several phantom Vicomtes that were floating around the original one to disappear.

Erik pulled the blanket up higher but resigned himself to the fact that he would be unable to move for a while. Seeing Raoul's uneasy look, Erik forced himself to calm down. He didn't know why, but seeing the Vicomte uneasy actually put him at ease. It made him lower his guard a bit because that was not the expression of someone who was going to try to kill him. He was still livid at his physical weakness, and the mere sight of the Vicomte made his hand twitch for a Punjab lasso. But, those knee-jerk reactions had taken second to his confusion. That warmth he had felt earlier at the thought of the warm hand on his forehead hadn't fully receded. This was the man who had helped him? The Vicomte?

Raoul approached him slowly, but instead of striking him, as Erik had expected, the Vicomte simply put down the tray he was holding down on the desk. Then, moving a good distance, too far for Erik to be able to hit him he noted, Raoul sat down on the floor. It was odd since there was a chair nearby, but Erik didn't bother reflecting on the blonde's actions. He was still trying to figure out what the Vicomte had planned.

Raoul was forcing himself to remain calm. Apparently, the ghost was too weak to do anything for the moment; he thanked God for the small favour. Now that he didn't have to worry about an attack, Raoul didn't know what to do. He'd really only expected a fight of some sort, but this shouldn't be too difficult. The fleeting thought that he could deal with the ghost right now, kill him while he was awake, while he knew that it was Raoul who was going to end his life actually tempted him, but he hadn't helped the man just to injure him – at least not while he was still recuperating. That was a coward's way of fighting.

So, he tried to take everything in steps. The original plan was not far from his mind: heal him, kick him out, then kill him. They were still in stage one of the plan, and there was no point in rushing this. He was a Chagny and Chagny's were honourable men. So, he steeled himself for the inevitable conversation they were going to have to have. He'd explain his position to the ghost: his inability to leave him to die on the street when he so badly wanted the distinct pleasure of killing the man himself. It would be best if the ghost said he was well enough to go back to his own home.

Suddenly, the fear that the ghost would call out loud enough to attract Christine's attention filled him as he placed the tray on his desk. It shook a little, the spoons clattering in the bowls, but he reminded himself that he had just been back from wanting to tell Christine about the ghost's presence. It would be that much harder to explain to her if she did find out right now, but it wouldn't change anything. So, he pushed that fear aside for the moment and focused on keeping the ghost as calm as he possibly could. He almost scoffed at the idea of keeping the ghost calm; Raoul was certain the man only had two modes: murderous and dangerous, which didn't necessarily include death, simply serious injury. When had this gotten so complicated?

Taking a deep breath, he realized that his legs weren't going to hold him for very much longer. So, as he had done the previous days, he went to sit by the ghost on the floor, realizing belatedly that the ghost probably would not take too kindly at such proximity. He wouldn't be comfortable either now that the ghost was awake. Moving further away, he mentally told himself that _he could do this_. He could be civil, and hopefully, the ghost would play along. After all, the ghost owed him for saving his life.

Erik glared, but even that small action was tiring him out. Why was he so weak? He wondered if the Vicomte had done something to him while he had been unconscious. The warmth he'd felt had left. Perhaps the man was slipping him poison. Suspicious, Erik ground out. "What are you doing here?" The question had come out as a mere whisper, the words struggling to come out. His throat felt too dry for him to speak normally. He paused to wonder how his voice could feel so _unused_.

He was further annoyed when the blonde just stared at him, as though his presence didn't faze him, as though it were natural for them to be in the same room without trying to kill each other. He waited to see the man grimace. He knew he wore no mask, hadn't since that night so long ago.

Raoul didn't grimace; instead, he looked at Erik in disbelief. "What am _I_ doing here?" He asked incredulously. "I live here."

Erik took a second to do another perusal of the room. Well, that would make sense. He hadn't actually wondered exactly where he was; that thought had been cut off by seeing the Vicomte in the first place. So, he was at the man's estate. That was odd. Bringing an enemy into your home was not a very bright idea. Then again, the Vicomte was not very bright to begin with.

"Well?" he prompted, his voice rasping.

Raoul tilted his head in confusion, "Well what?"

"What happened, you idiotic fop?" He winced when his throat actually began to hurt. Still, the pain didn't quell his desire to yell.

Raoul was tempted not to answer, but every moment they talked was a moment the ghost was not trying to kill him or do something equally disruptive to his continued existence. The fact that the ghost couldn't yell was simply an added bonus. It wasn't as though he couldn't understand the ghost's irritation. He would be annoyed if he woke up to find he was indebted to the ghost, had their situations been reversed. So, patiently, Raoul explained; he managed to keep the smile off his face.

"Three days ago I found you in an alley bleeding to death and helped you."

"Three days ago?" Erik repeated, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until Raoul nodded his assent.

"Three days," Raoul looked at him pointedly, "You should thank me."

Erik scoffed immediately, but he faltered from saying the scathing remark about the Vicomte's intelligence that was at the tip of his tongue when the memory of that warm hand forced its way to the forefront of his thoughts. It would have been the Vicomte of course. Shaking aside the feeling of warmth that still accompanied the memory, he looked away, "You should have just left me to die."

"I know." Raoul said, staring at the ceiling of his den. He said it rather flippantly. After how he'd seen the way that the ghost had struggled to stay alive, Raoul knew the man didn't mean what he'd said. Raoul didn't mean his words either. The ghost was alive for the moment and he knew that given the opportunity again, he would still go through all the trouble of saving the man again, as thankless a labour as it was turning out to be.

Erik glared at him, tempted to use every bit of strength he had to get close enough to hit him. His questions answered, the confusion he felt earlier was gone. The only thing that remained was the bitter rancor of knowing that he owed his life to the Vicomte. The knee-jerk reactions were taking the forefront again. He wanted to kill the man, and his inability to do so frustrated him.

So, he lashed out with his words instead. "Did you do it to gloat?" Erik realized almost as an afterthought that if he were on the estate, then Christine would be here too, "Did you bring me here to show me to your wife? How great you are to capture the famed ghost?"

Raoul flinched, and when the ghost smirked, he knew that the man had seen it. The bitterness and anger from seeing Christine earlier returned, doubled even in the sight of the man who he knew she had once adored. He didn't want to lie, hated the fact that he would even have to. It was not as though he could tell the ghost that the engagement had been broken, that they barely saw each other, spoke to each other.

"No," the words burst out as he stood up, "I didn't bring you here to gloat." The ingrate, to even suggest a thing. "I," he searched his mind for a reason, any reason for helping this man. He needed a reason that would knock the ghost off his high horse without bringing Christine into the conversation, especially when that lie could be discovered too easily, "I brought you here because now you're _my_ prisoner."

The second the words came of his mouth, Raoul wanted to take them back. Did he really just say that? A prisoner? That completely undermined his hope that the ghost would volunteer to leave.

He refused to be caught at his lie though. Stalking over to the table, he missed the shocked expression on the face that Raoul could easily see in detail in his mind's eye. Raoul's mind was busy preoccupied with what he was going to do now. The blood rushed to his cheeks; of all the things to say, why a prisoner? He could still sort of work with that though – say he's keeping the ghost captive and make their eventual fight some sort of sport. The ghost had to feel very ill or else this conversation definitely would have gone differently. He couldn't just abandon stage one of his plan just because his mouth had gotten ahead of him, and if he maybe felt a little compassion towards the man, he ignored it.

Grabbing the bowl of soup the butler had brought for the ghost, Raoul tried to look at the bright side. He wouldn't have to be feeding the ghost any more.

"There's your soup."

Raoul placed it on the floor with a clang before storming off towards the door that led to his room. Making sure that he looked more angry than flustered, he couldn't help but take one glance backwards to make sure that the ghost had everything he needed within arm's reach. Avoiding the ghost's prying eyes, he slammed the door shut behind him to make a point.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 05

Word count: 2,847

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Raoul's such a dork sometimes. It's unbearably cute. All I have to say is… *facepalm


	6. to share

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Sorry for being late. Weekends still are bad, but at least I did post on a Sunday, right?

Story note: Their thoughts are all over the place in this one, but in my defense, they sort of should be (not because _my _mind has been distracted by other things of course).

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 06 - … to share

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Once in the safety of his own room, Raoul began to pace. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. Gripping them together, he tried taking a calming breath. Instead, that deep breath only served to make him feel lightheaded. Everything was going so wrong: first with Christine and now with the ghost.

What was he going to do?

He had to keep with the lie. Alright, so maybe he didn't _have_ to, but allowing that insufferable man to have something else to lord over him was not going to be pleasant. As much as it was contrary to his original plan, the thought of the ghost as his prisoner did feel just the slightest bit satisfying. After that rope incident in the ghost's lair, how could he not want to finally be the one with the upper hand? Either way, how much did having the ghost as a prisoner really change?

Raoul let out a sharp exhale. It changed everything. This was why he couldn't kill the ghost when he'd first found him. This was why he couldn't gloat or feel more pleased about the fact that he had the ghost at his mercy. The man was injured and weak. There was no triumph in beating an already injured opponent. Admittedly, that night of Don Juan Triumphant, he would have taken whatever situation had been given to him. In fact, he wouldn't have hesitated at killing the ghost whether he was healthy, injured, or even conscious, but that was then. After everything he'd been through with Christine, he just couldn't hate so blindly anymore.

However, that still left the fact that the ghost would probably kill him given the opportunity, and since he was too weak to do that currently, then he would probably make his life as much of a hell as he could. The man was bound to get his voice back. Then with one shout, the whole household would be informed that he had the famed opera ghost in his household. More importantly, Christine would find out. He could tell her right now that the ghost was in his den… if he could find her. She was probably eating lunch, which meant that he had a higher probability of catching her. Yet, he was reluctant to do so. She didn't deserve to know, not after the way she'd treated him earlier.

The other option would be to convince her to leave the estate again. He snorted; that probably wouldn't be difficult. He could approach Madame Giry and request a favour. He paused; maybe he could convince Madame Giry to take the ghost. Cursing in his head, Raoul realized that would be unacceptable. The ghost wouldn't be his prisoner if he shipped him off to Madame Giry's. It would undermine the whole lie.

Then, there was the simple solution of gagging him. That didn't seem like a very good option though. He grimaced at the mere thought of doing so; this was a man, not an animal. He couldn't shoot down every option though. It probably wouldn't take very long for the ghost to get his voice back.

Raoul leaned against the nearest wall. His voice wasn't the only problem. He would have to find a way to physically restrain the ghost eventually. That's what happened to prisoners, right? They were restrained and mistreated. Since Raoul wouldn't do the latter just yet, at least not in good conscience, then he would have to do the former.

The door!

He'd forgotten to lock the doors. Flinging open the door to the hallway, he pulled out the key to lock the den's door. The deed done, Raoul leaned his forehead against the door, taking in a deep breath. What was he thinking? The ghost hadn't even been able to sit up. He was worrying himself for no reason. Raoul looked up and down the hallway guiltily; empty. Could he be any more obvious that he was hiding something?

Slipping back into his room, he released a sigh. He needed to calm down and maybe then he'd know what to do next.

o.o.o

Erik stared at the door that the Vicomte had just slammed.

In the silence that followed, he could admit to himself that he was fairly confused. Of all the emotions he thought he would feel being confronted with a situation like this, confusion had been the farthest from his expectations. Then again, he never thought he'd find himself in this situation. In fact, he wasn't sure he understood what was happening at all.

The Vicomte's words and actions seemed rather contradictory. If the Vicomte wanted to gloat, then he should have done it already. Besides the statement of 'you're my prisoner now', there'd been nothing. He'd even actually said he hadn't wanted to gloat.

Erik was his prisoner? He'd been a prisoner to a good many people, intentionally or otherwise: the gypsy had kept him captive, the opera house in a way had as well, and then there was Christine who he'd been a rather willing prisoner to – if only she'd been willing to reciprocate. Now, the Vicomte was trying to tell him that he was a prisoner to him? The idea was laughable.

The immediate indignation he'd felt at the announcement had vanished. He _should_ be angry that the Vicomte even spoke the sentence aloud, but something about their exchange had been off. He just couldn't quite place why.

Looking around the room, he saw blankets piled up near him, rather poorly folded actually. Though naked, he was comfortable and clean. Lifting the blanket from him, he checked his body. There weren't any new bruises. In fact, he was looking healthier than he had in a long while. The bowl beside him not only looked good, it smelled good as well.

He didn't know what the Vicomte's definition of a prisoner was, but this was definitely not what Erik correlated with being imprisoned.

Glad that no one was around to see him struggle, Erik pushed himself up into a sitting position. It took much more effort than he would have liked to admit and by the time he braced himself against the desk, he was ready to lie back down to sleep. Hunger won out in the end though. Dragging the blanket onto his lap, Erik took a second to catch his breath.

Placing the bowl on his lap, he paused. The poison theory was still an option, but even though he felt weak, he felt better than he had when he'd first woken. After all, he'd been asleep for three days.

Three days.

It would explain the fact that his body ached, the heaviness of his limbs, and the speed at which he tired.

Reaching for the spoon, Erik knew he didn't have much to lose by eating. At the first taste, he forgot everything about poison theories. The hunger may have lessened from what he remembered, but this was the first real meal that he'd actually tasted in a while. He'd forgotten food could taste like this. The soup was gone before he gave a second thought and by then, his stomach was pleasantly full. His throat even felt better.

Looking at the empty bowl, he remembered having seen the Vicomte place the tray down on the desk. Turning around was still a little difficult, but Erik was pleased to find that he could do so with less difficulty than it had taken to sit up. He placed the bowl down but frowned upon seeing the second bowl.

When he'd woken and seen Raoul there, he hadn't really wondered why he'd been in the room. The Vicomte did say that he was a prisoner, but considering the fact that Raoul had taken in the food, Erik was beginning to suspect that the Vicomte had been the one to care for him these past few days. He frowned at the thought and what it might entail.

It would explain why the blonde had seemed so at ease when he'd sat on the floor and then the fact that he took his meals with him. Erik hadn't been starving. Did that mean…? The Vicomte had been feeding him? Erik refused to believe it. He was probably jumping to the wrong conclusions, but that second bowl of soup stared back at him accusingly. Accusing him of what? He wasn't sure, but he was certain he didn't want to find out.

Erik was starting to hope that there was poison in his soup because at least then, he'd understand what was happening, what the Vicomte was planning.

The sound of the door locking filled the silence and Erik relaxed. That was more like it, something familiar. He looked at the other door and waited for it to be locked as well, but after a few seconds of waiting, nothing happened. He wondered where it led. All he heard was a door closing. Well, the Vicomte was sure cocky if he didn't think to lock the other door. The blonde was probably in there, laughing at him.

Erik glared at the door. He was tired of thinking. It was much easier to act, and he refused to allow the Vicomte another second of thinking he was just going to lie down and be his prisoner.

Flexing his legs, his muscles protested at the movement. Mobility was coming back slowly, but his anger was helpful in that it helped him ignore the pain. Pushing himself to standing position, he swayed unsteadily. Using the desk to keep himself upright, he stumbled towards the door he was certain was still unlocked.

o.o.o

Raoul laid sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was supposed to be thinking about a solution to the problem he had actually created for himself, but all he could think of was how foreign it felt being on his bed. It had been a while.

The second thought that filled his mind was the fact that he was hungry. He'd left his lunch in the den, with his 'prisoner.' He could potentially go downstairs and get more food, but he rather wanted to avoid everyone right now. His butler would certainly have questions for him.

He started when the door to the den swung open. Scrambling to his feet, he schooled his features to be neutral when he met the ghost's gaze.

Erik frowned when the Vicomte didn't react to the fact that he was naked. Admittedly, his lack of clothing had been a mere afterthought in his efforts to get to his feet, but when he'd realized before opening the door, he'd rather expected the blonde to blush and avert his eyes. Instead, all he received was a steady gaze. One that was challenging his own.

Raoul, of course, noticed the fact that the ghost was standing in the doorway naked as the day he was born, but after what he'd gone through in the past three days, seeing the man naked was rather uneventful. He was also painfully aware that it would seem like a weakness if he turned away, and then what would he do about the ruse?

He'd underestimated the man again. He couldn't take his eyes off the ghost in case he tried something else.

Erik knew there were perhaps a handful of proper questions to ask at this moment, but the first one to come out wasn't one of them. He couldn't help but press the subject though.

"Why am I naked?"

"Because…" Raoul tried to joke, "you didn't bring the blanket with you?"

The ghost was obviously not amused. Raoul wasn't laughing himself, but it seemed like it could have broken the tension. Apparently not. He waited for the ghost to say something else, but when he didn't, Raoul realized the ghost actually wanted to know why he was naked.

"You really want to know?" Raoul asked. The ghost wouldn't be pleased with what he heard.

Erik rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise. Why don't you share?"

Raoul bit his bottom lip; it wasn't his fault though that he was going to say this. "It's easier to change the sheets than it is to change your clothes."

It took a second for what that actually implied to sink it. Raoul forced himself not to grin when he saw the ghost grimace.

"And there wasn't much warning besides a moan or a mumbled word…" Raoul continued, rather pleased that the ghost actually looked flustered.

"I get it." Erik stopped him before he could continue. He had the sudden urge to cover himself with his hands, "I get it. Just stop talking."

The very thought that someone had actually touched him while he hadn't been able to protest or fight it actually unsettled him. The thought that the _Vicomte_ had done so made his skin crawl and suddenly, he didn't think he could keep standing. Leaning heavily on the doorjamb, he tried to clear his mind of those disturbing thoughts.

Raoul immediately felt a little bad for flaunting the ghost's weakness in his face. It wasn't his fault that he'd been unconscious and too weak to do anything. True, it had been a little uncomfortable the first time, but he wasn't lying when he said it had been easier with the ghost naked. And luckily, he hadn't needed to perform that particular task too often.

Seeing the ghost seem to deflate, Raoul found himself walking towards him before he thought about it. He couldn't let him fall; it was apparent that he was still at least a little weak. When he was close, the ghost lurched forward and grabbed onto his neck.

Erik saw him approach and he forced himself to stay on his feet. This was the perfect opportunity. If he could kill the man now, then he wouldn't have to worry about anything else. So, using what strength he had left, Erik threw himself at the man. Luckily, his hands easily found the blonde's neck. However, his momentum brought both of them to the ground. While he didn't have enough energy to try and break their fall, the Vicomte did his best to cushion their fall.

They ended up with Erik partially on top of him, his hands still firmly choking Raoul. The blonde gagged and tried to tear the ghost's hands away. Though painful, he could still breathe, just barely. It took a few more seconds but he finally managed to yank the ghost's hands away.

Erik glared, but he was breathing heavily and he was willing to stop. He really had no choice in such matters, not when his muscles were refusing to listen to him.

"Not while you're naked please," Raoul gasped out, pushing Erik off him.

His voice was actually pleading though, and at the sound, Erik's body just sagged to the floor boneless.

Raoul rolled away to put more distance between them; he gingerly felt his throat. There were definitely going to be bruises later. Seeing that the ghost wasn't about to attack him again, he looked up towards his den. The blankets on the floor couldn't have been comfortable and at the moment, they seemed quite far. The ghost wasn't moving. Now he felt worse. Why was he baiting the ghost? That was stooping quite low.

Maybe he could make up for being so mean to the ghost. He slipped Erik's arm across his shoulders and hefted him up. The ghost protested but managed to stand up with the help. Instead of heading towards the den, Raoul walked them over to the bed. It was closer and the ghost dropped into it with a sigh. It looked like he was asleep already.

Walking back to the den, Raoul mumbled to himself, "I really hope that you won't urinate on my bed."

He grabbed the extra blankets and draped it over the ghost.

"We're sharing the bed?" The ghost's voice startled him.

Scoffing, Raoul shook his head. "I do believe we've shared much more than needed these past few days."

"I was unconscious." Erik groused.

"Thank God," Raoul couldn't meet his eyes this time.

Erik didn't know how he was still awake, but he murmured one last question, "That's how you treat prisoners?"

Raoul stared at the ghost. No. He didn't treat prisoners this way. He didn't know anyone he treated this nicely, but someone in this house deserved to sleep well. Someone in this house deserved to be comforted and talked to like a human being. He didn't think the ghost deserved it, but he couldn't help it. There wasn't anyone else to be nice to. He had to admit though, he definitely liked the ghost more when he was unconscious and compliant. It was nice to have someone around, to be able to talk to anyone actually.

The ghost was already asleep when Raoul replied ruefully, "No, you're just special."

o.o.o

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End Chapter 06

Word count: 2,805

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: I almost feel bad for Erik in this. I definitely feel bad for Raoul though. *smirk, sort of.


	7. to compromise

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: To everyone that's sick, get well… it's flu season isn't it?

Story note: Poor Raoul. So confused.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 07 - … to compromise

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Erik woke up slowly, disoriented; after all, he couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd woken up warm and comfortable. However, even with the oddity of his situation, he didn't feel alarmed.

Something was definitely wrong.

Opening his eyes just a fraction, he kept his breathing deep to feign sleep. From his current position on his side, all he could see was the pillow beside him. He didn't have to move though; shutting his eyes, he remembered exactly where he was. The Vicomte's bed. No wonder it was comfortable; it was probably the best bed that money could buy.

Erik had rather hoped his previous encounter with the Vicomte had been a dream, one of the most unsettling and odd dreams of his life but a dream would have certainly made more sense than what he was left to believe. The Vicomte had him as a 'prisoner' – and in his head, that word didn't exactly fit in with the past events. Said Vicomte, rival, fop, overall annoyance, had saved his life, _personally _taken care of him, and was treating him rather hospitably. It simply didn't make sense. Maybe the Vicomte had lost his mind, but Erik still hadn't discounted the possibility that this was some sort of elaborate ploy – to what end, he wasn't sure.

Taking a mental inventory of how he felt, Erik was pleased to find that his body didn't have the same heaviness he had felt upon waking earlier. He, perhaps, wasn't completely well, but well enough not to fall to the floor in exhaustion as he had done earlier. His throat felt better as well. He had a feeling that his voice was completely back, and that gave him pause. He was in the Vicomte's estate and while he couldn't call for help, because who would help him, perhaps he could yell to get Christine's attention.

Would that even make a difference? Surely the Vicomte had told his wife that he was present in their house. After all, he was sleeping in their bed. Erik inwardly winced at that thought. _Their_ bed. The Vicomte hadn't been being kind; he'd been making a point.

He opened his eyes fully. Beyond the pillow on a seat by the window, the Vicomte was curled up asleep in what looked to be a rather uncomfortable position. Erik had a feeling that the man hadn't left the room at all. Unless Christine had come to the room herself, the Vicomte couldn't have told her of his presence. Then again, there were those three days that he had been unconscious. The Vicomte could have surely told her about him in that time. He wanted to believe that she hadn't been told. Otherwise, she would already know and still didn't want to see him. Of course. What other excuse was there? She'd made her choice that night, returned the ring he'd given her. Why would she want to visit him? Ignoring the bitterness that accompanied that thought, Erik tried to figure out what his next step would be.

He'd let Christine go, but he couldn't deny the fact that he still wanted to see her. He _needed_ to see her. And, if he could do nothing else while at the estate, he would find her and speak with her. Killing the Vicomte was a very close second, but he would take whatever he could. Shifting in the bed, he prepared to slip out and find her himself. The grounds were probably large, but he hoped he'd find her before anyone realized he was missing.

At the slightest of sounds though, Raoul's eyes opened and were immediately trained on Erik. There was no sign of sleep in his eyes. Erik froze in his place surprised. He wondered if the Vicomte had really been asleep. If he _had_ been asleep, then Erik was more disturbed than surprised; that was how _he_ awoke, from asleep to awake within moments. A lifetime of needing to be on guard had trained him to wake in such a manner. Erik was certain that the blonde hadn't been like before, that morning when they'd gone to the cemetery had been a good example of that. Something must have happened since then.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Raoul looked away as he stretched his legs out.

Raoul had barely fallen asleep before the sound of the ghost moving woke him. He'd found that his ears had attuned itself to the silence. Ever since Christine had moved in with him, he was always straining to hear the slightest sound that might indicate Christine was in the hallway outside his door finally ready to be a part of their relationship. That event had yet to occur, but still, he found that he couldn't stop himself from listening for her. It was the ghost that had made the noise though, and he hated how he'd actually hoped that it had been her. It was never her.

At first, Raoul had been a little disturbed because the ghost didn't move when he was asleep. Didn't move at all. Raoul had had to check several times to makes sure the ghost was still breathing. It was odd because Raoul had gotten used to when the ghost had simply been unconscious. At least then, the ghost would mumble and shift beneath the blankets, move a hand or leg. This time, he was completely still. It was almost as though he had to make certain not to move, afraid that someone would catch him. So the noise after the disconcerting silence had sounded loud to Raoul's ears.

The ghost had been sleeping for hours now, and in those hours, Raoul had been wracking his brain for any idea that might help him with his current situation. No matter what he thought, he came to the same conclusion: he'd backed himself into a corner. There really wasn't anything he could do. Prisoner or not, moving forward was going to be difficult.

If only he hadn't been so nice to the ghost. This was a man who deserved to die, and it didn't matter that Raoul didn't feel like being the one to kill him. The ghost was a known murderer. He should die. But every time Raoul looked at him, he thought of Christine. He thought of them, the way they used to be. And while a part of him wanted to preserve those thoughts, he had already come to the point where he wanted to destroy everything that reminded him of her. He wanted to forget her completely but had yet to act on that impulse. He would like to fool himself into believing that killing the ghost would solve all his problems, but the fear that it would only make things worse hung over his head. He didn't know how it would be possible for things to get worse, but knowing the progression of their relationship so far, Raoul was certain it would happen.

He was just tired of feeling betrayed, of being spurned, tired of it all. No matter what he tried to do, he couldn't shake that fatigue. It clung to him and his every thought of her. Now, the only thing that gave him some reprieve were thoughts of leaving Paris. He was willing to leave her behind once she gave him that final indication that there was no hope for them as a couple.

Their engaged to be engaged promise still tied them together, almost as much as this man was a constant thread between their lives. He would never feel at peace with himself, never be able to move on if this weren't settled.

So, knowing that he didn't have any other choice in the matter, Raoul decided that keeping the ghost as his 'prisoner' really couldn't last. He didn't have any of the tools to properly continue the act anyway. He knew exactly what he'd have to do and surprisingly, he was almost looking forward to telling Christine, looking forward to confronting her again about their relationship, about their living conditions. He was almost excited to flaunt the fact that he had something she wanted, finally.

"I feel better now," Erik practically snarled at the Vicomte.

It was meant as a threat, but Raoul simply sat in the chair, his legs splayed out in front of him, and replied, "That's good."

His voice even, Erik informed him, "I'll kill you." He pushed himself up into a sitting position, glad that it hadn't taken as much effort as it had last time. He leaned his head back on the headboard but hissed as he leaned on his wound. He'd almost completely forgotten about it.

Raoul shrugged. "You'll try."

"And succeed." Erik retorted but didn't move to act on his threat.

"You aren't that well yet," Raoul said with a small laugh.

"Well enough."

"Perhaps."

"You think too highly of yourself."

Raoul's lip quirked up. "No. I simply know that a fight where you aren't completely well and in my home, isn't a fight that is in your favor."

Tired of the Vicomte's smug attitude, Erik grabbed the edge of the blanket to throw it aside and show him just how he _could_ win the fight between them when the Vicomte held his hand up.

"Remember my request." At Erik's confused expression, Raoul added, "Not while you're naked please."

Erik paused.

"It is a reasonable request. Is it not?" Raoul asked, trying to convince the ghost. At least, this way he could delay any unnecessary attention to his room. He really didn't want to have to explain what a naked opera ghost was doing trying to kill him.

Erik grudgingly nodded, remembering what the Vicomte had divulged about his care while he had been unconscious. He tried not to think about it too much. Why this man had gone through all that effort for him was something that simply complicated matters.

"Give me my clothes," Erik ordered.

"Unfortunately," Raoul tried to look apologetic, "your clothes suffered a worse fate than you."

The ghost's clothes had been salvageable but between the stench, blood, and body fluids, it hadn't been a difficult decision to burn them.

"You expect me to remain in this bed?" Erik glared.

Raoul laughed harshly, "As though you'd stay in the bed. If a bed were enough to keep you still, I doubt we'd have so many problems."

"Well…"

"Well," Raoul knew it was now or never. "Seeing as you are doing better, and you are better correct?"

Erik nodded, trying to figure out who this man was. This wasn't the patron who'd spent so many months at the opera house. This wasn't even the suitor that Christine had spent so much time with. He didn't know what to expect at all.

Raoul was loathe to lie, so he decided several embellishments and omissions would be necessary. "Good. Now…" he paused dramatically, "I grow weary of your face." It was blunt, callous, and a hundred other words that Raoul knew warranted a reaction from the ghost. When the man actually flinched, Raoul had to immediately stifle the twinge of regret he felt for the saying it. However, he was supposed to be ruthless enough to keep the ghost captive, so a few harsh words had seemed appropriate.

When the ghost surged forward ready to strike him, Raoul was quickly on his feet, closing the distance between them. Raoul managed to push him back against the headboard before Erik had even managed to strike out at him. Erik winced as his head wound was aggravated, but more sore was his pride. Was he still so weak that the Vicomte had managed to best him so easily?

Raoul pulled away just as quickly as he had pushed the ghost down. He waved his hand dismissively, hoping that the ghost couldn't see the shaking of his hands. He kept a calm façade even as his heart raced. The ghost couldn't be feeling that well, subduing him had been too easy. "Oh, don't be so sensitive. It's an _expression_." Rolling his eyes, Raoul added, "Not everything is about your face."

Erik stared at the Vicomte in disbelief. Really. Who was this man?

Erik had forgotten that he hadn't been wearing a mask. The Vicomte had been acting so calm without it on that he'd actually forgotten that his face was hideous. That was the first time that had ever happened and he blamed it on the head injury.

"As I was stating," Raoul finally looked away from the ghost. The man was still in his peripheral vision; he didn't doubt that the second he turned his back to the ghost, they'd end up in another scuffle. "I grow weary with you as my prisoner," he stated pointedly, glancing at the ghost.

Erik stayed where he was, not because he couldn't fight the blonde, just because he had a feeling that he wanted to hear what the Vicomte had to say.

"Seeing as you wish for freedom and I wish for…" Raoul admitted honestly, "a new start, I see this as an opportunity that will benefit us both." He stated this all in a business-like sense. He made sure that none of his personal feelings coloured his statements. He could only feign nonchalance for very long though, a lot of things were going to change if he followed with this plan, changes that might not be for the better. He reminded himself that this was the only way.

"You may not know this, but Christine does not know you are present." Raoul turned his attention to the ghost fully, watching his reaction. It wasn't as large as he expected. The ghost's eyes merely widened a fraction and he sat up straighter. His eyes darted towards the door but he remained where he sat.

It was enough of a reaction though. The ghost still loved her. Maybe she still loved him. Raoul would never know unless he told her. There were two main ways that such a confrontation would end. She would say she loved Raoul and then he was certain the ghost and he would fight to the death. If Christine said she loved the ghost, then Raoul would free himself from both of them; he could only pursue Christine for so long. Either would be difficult because he knew that many things would still need to be fixed and discussed, but at least it wouldn't be this, this limbo he'd been living in.

There was a third possibility that Christine wouldn't be able to pick between them, and then they'd have to fight each other again. Either way, two out of three possibilities ended in a fight and Raoul refused to fight an injured man.

"I'd like to make a compromise."

"I'm listening," Erik finally replied. He was surprised to hear that the Vicomte hadn't told her yet, but he wasn't about to question it right now. Maybe Christine would still want to see him.

"I'll tell her you're here." Raoul quickly added, "but that doesn't mean she'll want to see you."

Raoul doubted that; of course she would want to see him at least one last time. Their last parting had been under quite duress. This time she would have time to think about what to say.

"What do you want in return?" Erik knew compromises never went in his favor.

Raoul shrugged, sitting back down in the seat he had just vacated. "You don't leave this room or make yourself known until you're fully recuperated."

"What?" He shook his head, not quite understanding how this was a compromise.

"Two days." Raoul looked out of the window, staring into the darkness. If the ghost wanted to attack him, then it would happen. "I'm giving you two days to get better."

Erik stared at him as though he were insane. Two days for recuperating? That was all the Vicomte wanted in return for telling Christine that he was there, for giving him an opportunity to see her again. "Two days for my silence," he agreed. If the Vicomte were to try anything, he could always break his promise when he saw fit to. Until then, he could bide his time.

Raoul gave no indication that he had heard. He knew the ghost would agree. Now, he had two days to find Christine and find the courage to tell her that the ghost was present. Two days to tell her to actually make her choice.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 07

Word count: 2,746

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: prisoner!Erik didn't last very long, but come on, we need a more evil!Raoul to pull that off properly.


	8. to tell

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Working on weekends is definitely difficult. I'm sorry this is late. I'm sure for some of you, I didn't make my Sunday deadline, but for me, I did.

Story note: Erik's in this chapter but I must say that the focus is really on Christine and Raoul.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 08 - … to tell

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Erik had woken yesterday to see that Raoul had slept on the chair, completely unfazed by the fact that Erik could have very well killed him in his sleep. He actually doubted he would have been able to sneak up on Raoul. A creak in a floorboard out in the hallway had woken the blonde. His eyes opened as though he hadn't been asleep at all. Erik was beginning to doubt that he had slept.

Getting up, Raoul spared Erik only a glance, meeting his eyes without disdain or challenge. Erik was almost tempted to say it was concern, but he knew that had simply been a trick of the morning light. Perhaps _he_ hadn't had enough sleep, but either way, Raoul strode into the den. Several muttered words were shared at the door, and Erik was certain that Raoul had only opened the door a fraction to grab the tray. He reentered the bedroom and placed the tray down on the nightstand without a word. Erik opened his mouth to say a snide comment, but it died in his throat when their eyes met again. He could swear it was concern.

Raoul retreated back into the den and for the next few hours remained there. He didn't even bother to close the door. Erik wasn't sure if it was because he was truly arrogant or unconcerned.

His hunger brought his attention to the food bedside. He didn't even hesitate in eating breakfast. The idea of a poisoning had been discarded sometime the night before. He shifted until he could see the blonde who had a similar breakfast on his desk. Raoul was eating while going through some missives.

Erik made himself comfortable on the bed while watching him. The boy was handsome enough, and he had money. Christine had good reason to have chosen him, but that didn't negate the fact that the boy had no substance. Okay, given the fact that Erik had never been particularly interested in learning more about the man, from what he'd seen, the Vicomte couldn't be that intelligent. He _could _sing somewhat, but just barely. He glared at Raoul when he didn't respond to the fixed stare. Erik was determined to make the boy squirm, intimidate him without breaking their compromise.

After all, he had thought through it. He could very well just find Christine himself, but he didn't think she would take well to suddenly finding him in the house. He doubted that she would listen to him if she thought he had broken in. He could try to explain, but the explanation itself seemed like more of a lie than any lie he could have said. Then, there was also the fact that to leave the room he would have to fight the Vicomte, and in the end, recuperating was the best plan before doing so. When they had fought in the cemetery, they'd been evenly matched. Having a handicap would no doubt make him lose. As he saw it, having Raoul explain their situation while recovering was truly the best course of action.

Instead of reacting to his stare, the only thing Raoul did was look up every fifteen minutes, meet his eyes, and Erik could almost swear, visually make sure he was all right. It downright irked him. To make matters worse, before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep. He woke up a few hours later and the Vicomte was still at his desk, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. Their eyes met again and this time Erik rolled over so that he wouldn't have to see the blonde.

Determined to get a reaction from the Vicomte, Erik tried to stand up. He was pleased to find that he could do so without much effort. He almost felt normal; looking down at himself, he could see that he had lost a lot of weight since Christine's departure. He needed her. There was nothing left for him if Christine weren't with him. That much was obvious.

He reached up and felt the bandage around his head. Deciding it was best to leave it alone for now, he looked around to see if there were any clothes for him to wear. He saw nothing but grinned, realizing it could work to his advantage not to cover up. Perhaps his state of undress would make the Vicomte uncomfortable – though if the day before were any indication, the blonde would barely notice it until he was attacked.

Erik walked through the bedroom. He opened drawers and looked through the Vicomte's clothing. He opened closets and touched everything he could that was in the blonde's bedroom. He waited for the blonde to enter the room and tell him to stop, but nothing of the sort happened. Having nothing else to look through, he decided a more direct approach was in order. Because their deal was to remain in the bedroom, Erik stood at the doorway and stared at the blonde.

When Raoul finally looked up, ten minutes later, he was still standing in the doorway.

"Please," Raoul indicated to a chair on the other side of the desk, "Come in. Have a seat."

Erik hid his surprise and slowly entered the room. He sat down suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was naked when Raoul gave him his full attention. The Vicomte reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a roll of bandages.

"Stop." Erik said when he saw Raoul stand up. "I can do that myself."

Raoul looked between the bandages and his patient before relenting. He handed the bandages over but remarked, "How will you be able to check the wound?"

Erik paused. He could rewrap it but he wouldn't know until it was too late if the wound were all right. Erik practically ripped the bandages off his head. "Here."

The Vicomte finally showed a reaction. He winced when he saw the rough motion. Erik tried not to notice.

Tensing when the blonde walked behind him, Erik sat stiffly in the chair. He didn't know why he was allowing this. He didn't need anyone to survive. He figured that he mustn't be feeling as well as he thought to even consider such a thing. He was about to tell the Vicomte to leave him be, when he felt those warm hands on his neck. His lower back muscles spasmed at the touch. His throat constricted and any hope of telling the Vicomte to leave him alone was lost. His eyes closed of their own accord as gentle hands threaded through his hair, brushing it aside to reveal the wound caused by the stone. He suddenly felt too warm.

After a few moments, that warmth was gone and Erik's eyes opened quickly. What had he been doing? This was his rival.

"The wound is healing well," Raoul's voice was even, obviously unaffected by that moment. He walked back around the desk and sat down. "I asked the butler to bring some extra clothing for you. My collection of books may not be that extensive, but you're free to read any that interest you."

Without a word, Erik left the room, needing the space. Once he calmed himself down, he wrapped his head and focused on his goal. Just because the Vicomte was acting oddly, didn't mean he could allow himself to be affected. To prove his point, he walked back into the den and looked at the books. He read over the Vicomte's shoulder, but Raoul hardly showed a reaction to his presence.

The rest of their time together was spent in that awkward coexistence – well, it was awkward for Erik. He couldn't help but feel that something was truly off about the Vicomte, but he focused on not thinking about that. Instead, he focused on getting well and determining what he could say to Christine.

Now, it was the evening of the second day, and Erik hadn't seen the Vicomte since after lunch. It was the longest time they'd spent away from each other since he had woken.

Erik could almost say that he was excited. He was fairly certain that the Vicomte was going to tell her, and then, he would be able to convince Christine that staying with Raoul was simply a bad idea. While the words ran through his mind, all he was able to do was pace. He couldn't even pretend to busy himself since there was nothing left to look at in the rooms. The books weren't interesting, though there were a few of interest. He hadn't been able to focus enough to read. The only thing he'd been able to do was watch the Vicomte.

Yes, he had spent the entire day yesterday and this morning just watching the man. It hadn't been difficult since he was always around, and Erik had made a point to _not_ hide the fact that he waswatching, observing, just looking for a reason why his rival would go through all this trouble. He was looking for that ulterior motive. And so far, he hadn't been able to find one.

He did come to several conclusions though. One was that the blonde wasn't some evil mastermind. He doubted the Vicomte had ulterior motives, or at least motives that were intended to harm him. The blonde was simply stupid. What other reason was there to take your rival into your household when said object of interest was still present?

And the other that he had triumphantly deduced after waking in the middle of the night only to see the Vicomte sleeping on the chair again. The blonde wasn't married. He couldn't be. No newly wed man would stay away from his bride for that long without once consulting her. Christine hadn't shown up either, and while his initial thought had been that this had all been part of the plan, he could think of no other reason why Raoul needed this ruse.

If the blonde wanted him dead, he could have left him there in the alley. Or he could have taken him to the police. Or he could have killed him the second he woke up. But the Vicomte had done none of that. If he wanted to gloat, then he should have been doing so already. Erik even had to admit it himself that there were quite a number of things to gloat about: Christine, the opera house, saving his life, nursing him back to health. Still, the Vicomte hadn't breathed a word to lord it over him; even his demeanor completely lacked the slightest hint of gloating.

Then again, Erik had noticed a rather lackluster response from him in general. To put it simply, the man looked tired. Erik was certain of it now, even after having first thought it when Raoul had been callous and forceful; this was a different man from the one who'd been at the opera house. It was rather disconcerting. And this fact only reinforced the belief that Raoul and Christine were not married. It made him excited yet wary at the same time. What had happened between them? What could have possibly happened to make the Vicomte save Erik's life, treat him well, and give him the opportunity to see her again?

Erik shook his head. He'd been thinking the same question for hours now. It didn't matter what had happened. What mattered now was the fact that he had the opportunity to not only see Christine again, he had the opportunity to steal her away from the Vicomte – if it could even be considered stealing now. He could make her see that she had made the wrong decision.

The only question now was if Raoul was actually going to hold his end of the bargain.

o.o.o

Raoul sat at the top of the stairs, waiting. He had actually planned on telling Christine the night before, but she'd locked herself in her room after dinner and claimed to have a headache. It felt like they were married already. So, Raoul had let her be even though he wanted to give her some time to think about what he was going to tell her. But tonight was the second day, and he couldn't give her that luxury.

He'd given himself the deadline for a reason. Mostly because he could appease the ghost, but also because he needed that deadline as incentive for him to finally act, as though the ghost's presence wasn't incentive enough. He just didn't think he could have summoned the will to confront Christine otherwise. Though, Raoul had to admit having the ghost around _was _trying. It took a lot to ignore him, especially when he insisted on staring. It was a little comforting to know that he was well though. His efforts hadn't gone in vain. The ghost was as irritable and trying as ever.

Sighing, Raoul looked down the hallway. He knew that she was still in her room. She'd been there since lunch, but after the first few hours of waiting, Raoul was beginning to worry that he had somehow missed her. However, he'd been waiting for Christine since that first day he saw her; he could wait a little longer. This barely seemed a minute in all that time.

When he heard the door open, he stood up immediately. Her footsteps were steady until the moment she saw him.

"Good evening, Christine," he said, making sure he was directly in front of the stairs.

"Raoul," she looked past him and then behind her. She kept her distance.

He wondered if she was going to run. Before she could decide, Raoul started, "I have something important to tell you." But his well-practiced speech was suddenly gone. He could barely speak. Looking at her hurt. How could he love her so much and still have it hurt? He was tempted to hug her, but the knowledge of how she would react made his stomach turn. It made him keep his distance.

Putting her hands on her hips in defiance, Christine glared at him, "I'm hungry right now, Raoul. Can we not speak about this tomorrow?"

Shaking his head, Raoul told himself this was the only way. If he didn't tell her this now, she would only avoid him for more weeks. "We _need _to talk."

She moved towards him, intent on walking around him even if it meant to press herself against the wall. Raoul bowed his head in defeat. He wasn't about to physically force her to stay, didn't think he should have to. She should want to listen to him, want to speak with him. So when she approached he moved to the side to let her pass, but as she walked down the first few steps, he was finally able to get the words out. "The opera ghost is here."

She stopped then. He hadn't wanted to start with that fact. In fact, he had wanted to start with their relationship and their current living situation. He wanted to start with how much he still loved her and if only she would let herself love him back or even just let herself let him love her, then things would be better. Things wouldn't be so difficult, so wrong. He wanted to tell her that he believed she wasn't over her past. She wasn't ready to move on because of how things had ended and how they could fix all that.

Right now, he'd ruined any chance of saying those words. He just wished she would turn around so that he could see her expression. For all the time it took for her to finally turn around, he was almost certain she hadn't heard him.

She looked at him in disbelief – at least she didn't look excited. She frowned before asking, "What did you say?"

"I," Raoul hesitated. He shook his head but knew he couldn't just change the subject to try a different approach, "I've been trying to tell you that I ran into the opera ghost a few nights ago."

"You ran into him?" She repeated. She walked up the stairs to poke him on the chest. Raoul almost grabbed her hand. She hadn't been this close to him in a while. It felt as though her finger burned where she touched him. She yelled, "Are you sure you weren't looking for him?"

"What?" Raoul actually took a step back. He was torn between wanting her touch and wanting to avoid her. She had no right to touch him right now, not after all those days and nights of creating the separation that existed between them, not when all she wanted to do now was hurt and accuse him.

"What were you thinking?" She continued, "Were you trying to get revenge?"

"I didn't do that, Christine. Love, please listen to me," Raoul tried again. He wondered why this was so difficult. This wasn't how he had imagined telling her, not how he had imagined she would react.

"No. I told you to that I wasn't ready. I told you to give me time."

Raoul couldn't stand it. He finally raised his voice. "I did give you time. I gave you your space. I gave you everything, Christine. Everything!"

She actually looked surprised.

At a more level voice, he said, "And I didn't search for him."

"I don't care," Christine's voice was tense, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Why?" Raoul looked towards the den and hesitated when he saw the door ajar. Although he couldn't see anyone there, he was certain that he hadn't left the door open. "I… I thought you might want to speak with him."

"Speak with him?" She shook her head, "I already chose."

Raoul couldn't help but laugh at that statement.

"What?" She looked furious, "You don't believe me? I chose _you_, Raoul."

"Did you?" He decided confronting her now was better than leaving things unsaid. It would probably be a while before he would be able to speak with her again. He needed her to know how he felt, "Did you really? Because right now I don't see us married. I love you, Christine. More than you seem to want to accept, but honestly, I don't think you really chose me. If you did, then perhaps you should finish things with the ghost completely so that we'll finally be able to move on. Because what we're doing, what we have been doing isn't right. We…"

"I don't know what you're talking about. The only person _wrong _right now is you. I want to move on, Raoul. I want to and you can't seem to do that. You keep pulling me back. I never want to see the opera ghost again!" She yelled. "He's a _monster_!" She ran down the flight of stairs. Raoul chased after her for only a few steps before stopping.

The front door opened and slammed shut.

Raoul slumped down onto the steps, burying his face in his hands. Why had he thought things would be different? If anything, he had just made things worse.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 08

Word count: 3,180

o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: What is Christine's problem? We'll find out sooner or later.


	9. to surrender

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Busy holiday. Apparently holidays make me want to write stories. I can't wait to see what happens during Christmas. :) But yeah, don't expect very much updates on Human Anatomy. I needed something to offset Think of Me and that happened.

Story note: Not as long, but Erik and Raoul have another interaction.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 09 - … to surrender

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Erik hadn't been able to wait patiently in the room. He'd rather quickly reached his limit of wondering where the Vicomte was and what he was doing. He'd been sitting in the Vicomte's chair when he decided that he should be able to leave the room without being seen. That was their deal, right? For him to not be seen. Sure, there'd been the part about staying in the room, but he wasn't about to let that stop him.

Opening the door slowly, Erik peeked his head out and immediately pulled back when he saw the Vicomte down the hallway at the top of the stairs. The blonde apparently didn't hear him, so he looked out once more. He leaned on the doorjamb and kept his hand on the door so that it wouldn't open any further than necessary.

The Vicomte was just sitting there.

Erik watched him. He didn't even consciously think to do so. That's all he'd been doing for the past two days after all; it was reflex now. He catalogued everything he saw. The Vicomte's hands were grabbing his pant legs. His back was ramrod straight and he kept looking down the hallway expectantly. Erik could easily tell that he was nervous. And now, he knew that Christine was going to be coming from down the hall. Hopefully, that's who the blonde was waiting for.

He still couldn't figure out the Vicomte. Nothing ever made sense when the blonde was involved: nothing with Christine, nothing even between them. And _their_ relationship should have been easy to define. They were rivals. They hated each other. They… Erik couldn't even put it into words. They were just supposed to want to kill each other not help each other and be hospitable. And more importantly, they didn't allow the other to speak with Christine. If the Vicomte weren't married to her, what he was doing now made even less sense. It meant that Erik had a better chance of taking Christine away from him. The Vicomte was changing all the rules between them. Or maybe, he was trying to. Erik shook his head and ducked back in the room when he heard a door down the hallway open.

Erik held his breath so that he could hear her footsteps. Erik could map her progress down the hallway from sound alone and knew when she saw Raoul. Her steps slowed. Erik couldn't help but look out the door again.

His first sight of Christine took his breath away, literally. She looked beautiful even if she looked annoyed. It was like no time had passed; she looked as beautiful as he remembered. Her hair was a little longer and the dress she wore was exquisite. More importantly, she looked healthy. The Vicomte appeared to have given her everything she needed.

What could he possibly give her that the Vicomte couldn't? Erik stopped second guessing himself; that's all he'd been doing after she'd left. He could give her a life of music. He could give her her dreams.

Erik gripped the door tighter to keep himself in check. He wanted to walk into that hallway, wanted to just grab her and go. But, he could wait. He needed the introduction before he raced forward. There was also that part of him that wondered if the Vicomte were indeed going to inform her of his presence.

The moment Christine saw Raoul, she hesitated. Erik smirked. So, Christine wasn't pleased to see the blonde. That meant his chances were good. Maybe she'd realized her mistake, but why would she have stayed with him all this time? Why hadn't she returned to him?

Erik shook his head. He would find out soon enough.

Listening to their conversation, Erik couldn't help but be in high spirits. This was what triumph felt like. The Vicomte was losing Christine. That much was obvious. The boy couldn't hold onto her and tonight was the night that Erik would be able to rectify all the wrongs of their past. He would have her. That was where she belonged after all.

He should have been happier; he was aware of that fact. He tried to ignore the undercurrent of displeasure but it was still there. It grew as their conversation progressed, especially when they began to talk about him. Of course the Vicomte hadn't been as eloquent as expected when telling her about his presence, but it was better than simply walking up to her.

Her reaction was less than desirable. This might look like Christine, but she was different. Her attitude was different, and not just towards Raoul. The way she held herself when speaking to him, the way that she stood and spoke. She reminded him of the time when she was younger and had thrown tantrums. It hadn't occurred often, but this was almost like revisiting the past. He still wanted her.

Something more than just the Vicomte himself was bothering her. She was just redirecting the problem against their current situation. Erik wondered what it could possibly be. Whatever it was, it was ruining their relationship and Erik couldn't help but worry if the same thing would happen between them.

Christine was treating Raoul badly. That should have made him feel happy, but Christine had professed her love to him. She had professed _undying_ love to that boy and yet here she was apparently avoiding him and effectively pushing him out of her life. She was avoiding him, yelling at him, and giving him a lot less than he deserved.

God, was Erik thinking about what the Vicomte deserved? The boy deserved to die and that was it. Erik just… he just wondered how she would treat _him_ when he couldn't give her the amenities that a Vicomte could. Yet, maybe that was the discontent she felt. Perhaps what was bothering her was simply the fact that she had chosen incorrectly, that she wanted to change her mind.

Her parting words however, soured any thought or hope that he had a better chance of claiming her. Maybe he wasn't as much of a solution as he'd hoped.

o.o.o

Raoul didn't feel like moving. All his energy had left as soon as Christine slammed the door. His seat on the step seemed like the best place for him to be at the moment.

He didn't regret what he'd said. He'd told her the truth, finally been able to say what he'd wanted to say to her. He just couldn't understand what _Christine_ had just said. How could he have been the one that kept pulling her back to the opera house, to their past? They had brought nothing away from the opera house. He never mentioned their past. Hell, they barely talked, barely saw each other. How could he have been the problem? He must have been doing something wrong though. She had gone through so much; maybe he wasn't as sensitive as he should have been. He wanted to give her what she wanted.

Yet, in the end, she hadn't given him an answer to what she'd wanted. She told him she'd chosen. That should have been enough for him to keep pursuing her, to give her more time, but he was absolutely certain that just because she said the words didn't mean that they were true. He just kept coming to the same solution. If she didn't talk to the ghost, nothing would ever change. _They_ would never change.

But that meant that he might lose her. He'd been willing to let that happen, but the closer it was to happening, the more he was beginning to wonder. What could he do though? The ghost… there was the ghost to worry about.

Raoul let out a frustrated groan. The ghost had seen everything that had happened. He'd completely forgotten about the open door.

When he heard the footsteps come closer, he didn't bother to look up. The ghost knew everything now. He knew about their relationship, how could he not, but before the man could say anything, Raoul decided he might as well tell the ghost everything.

"I found you there in the alley," Raoul started. It was best to clear the air completely. There was nothing else he could really do and holding this one more lie took too much effort. He just couldn't do it anymore.

Erik stopped at the top of the stairs and stared at the Vicomte's back. He hadn't been sure what he was about to do but he didn't feel staying the room was necessary any longer. The boy had in fact kept his end of their deal. Too bad it hadn't gone the way that he'd expected.

"I was going to leave you there once I found out who you were," Raoul said, his voice distant. He looked up and stared at the closed door. He couldn't seem to focus on anything but the pain of her absence, of her walking out on him. Could he keep saying that he loved her? Every time he tried, she threw that love back in his face. He shouldn't want to stop having to say it. "I don't know why I helped you. I carried you back here myself."

Erik scoffed, rolling his eyes. "No one asked you to." He hoped that the boy didn't expect him to thank him.

Raoul continued as though he hadn't heard him, "It was nice. Almost nice." His next words were muffled as he covered his face with his hands. He couldn't bear to look at the door any more. Christine storming out replayed over and over in his mind.

"What was?" Erik asked even though he was certain the Vicomte wasn't even listening.

"Having someone to talk to. Having someone listen."

Erik wanted to say he hadn't been listening, but the words stuck in his throat. This man didn't deserve his pity. He wasn't even sure why he wasn't leaving already, but he wanted to hear what the blonde had to say. He wanted to know what had happened. The whole prisoner situation had seemed off to begin with. At least now, he would be able to find out the truth.

"It was nice to be able to take care of someone. Christine doesn't want to see me. She hasn't wanted to since that day. Since she left you." Raoul sighed again. He just couldn't stop himself from talking. It was unbelievably nice to say the words aloud. He was starting to think that it didn't matter if someone was even listening anymore. He couldn't be sure that the ghost was even there any longer. The man hadn't made a sound for a while now. "She doesn't want to be touched, doesn't want to speak, doesn't want to be seen." Raoul laughed harshly, "Well, at least not by me."

Erik thought about Christine's parting words, that she apparently didn't want to see him either. However, he wasn't like the Vicomte. He would still fight for her. He would make her see that he was exactly what she needed.

"We aren't married. We haven't done anything but live in the same house since then." Raoul nodded. That was it. That was everything, wasn't it? He had no more to say about the subject. But he did have something to say about the ghost. "You were never a prisoner. You," Raoul didn't know what he really wanted with the ghost, wanted for the ghost, "I just wanted you to get better." Raoul shrugged. He knew what his original excuse had been. He'd thought about the fact that the he had wanted the ghost to heal just so that they could fight and he would feel honour in the battle, but truthfully he'd stopped caring. He just wanted the ghost to get well.

In all truths, Raoul believed that he would have taken anyone in that alley home. At least, that's what he believed. He couldn't be certain, but the ghost was hardly a reason to become compassionate all of a sudden. It had been a desperate need to be close to someone, to be of use. It had just been his misfortune that he'd found the ghost. "Just better. You can leave."

Erik didn't know what to say. The boy was pathetic. Yet, he couldn't judge too harshly. He wanted to but found that he couldn't because he knew that he'd fallen even lower than the Vicomte. He'd been closer to death. He'd starved himself and been almost killed. That was pathetic in itself.

He hadn't needed the boy's permission to leave though. He walked down the stairs, not giving Raoul a second glance. Stopping at the bottom of the stairwell, he felt he needed to say something, to gloat because that's what he did, right? He was supposed to lord over the fact that the Vicomte was pathetic.

"You lied."

Raoul looked at the ghost's back. "I omitted some facts."

"You were using me," Erik realized. The boy had wanted a reason to confront Christine and he'd provided the perfect opportunity. The Vicomte had been desperate, so desperate that he would have even allowed the ghost to speak with her if it meant that he might lose her.

"And you weren't using me?"

Erik had to give him that. He _had_ been using the Vicomte, too.

They had nothing left to say to each other. He hesitated, but he headed towards the door. He didn't know why he had hesitated in the first place. It felt like there was still something left unsaid between them. He shrugged that feeling aside. If he hurried, he might be able to catch Christine and then be able to have that conversation with her.

When his hand was on the doorknob, Raoul called out. "Wait."

Raoul watched as the ghost's back straightened and he actually stopped. He hadn't expected that, but then again, he hadn't expected to call out. Just watching another person leave would hurt too much. He felt a type of desperation he usually only felt with Christine. He didn't know why he felt it with the ghost, but all he knew was that he couldn't bear to see anyone else walk out on him.

"What?" Erik asked, wondering why he wasn't just walking out right now.

Raoul stood up and held out his hand and pulled it back to himself, shoving it into his pocket. Why had he reached out? He shook his head glad the ghost hadn't turned around. He chastised himself for feeling so much desperation, and especially for the next word. "Stay."

This time the ghost did turn around in disbelief. "What?"

Raoul met his eyes. "You won't find her." It was unspoken that he knew from experience.

The ghost scoffed and shook his head. "I'm not you."

Raoul laughed. He practically whispered, "That's good." He walked down the stairs, stopping on the last step. He didn't know what he was doing, but he just needed to do something. Something for the both of them. He was tired of waiting, tired of holding on so tightly to the little he had. If Christine wasn't going to change willingly, then he'd force her to. "She'll come back before the night is done."

Erik narrowed his eyes. Was the Vicomte actually suggesting he stay here longer? "And if she doesn't?"

Raoul shrugged, now unable to meet the man's eyes. He reminded himself that he was offering his home only because there was nothing else he could do. "Then, I'll keep out of your way until she does." He walked by him then. He was out of the door before Erik could reply.

"I'll steal" was the only thing Erik could think to say.

Raoul looked over his shoulder with a smirk. "I didn't know you to be a thief."

He clarified. "Her."

Turning around, Raoul sighed. "Hopefully…"

Erik wondered if the boy actually wanted him to win.

"… hopefully something'll change." Raoul finished before leaving.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 09

Word count: 2,659

o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: It was short, but man, Raoul makes me so sad sometimes. He needs a hug (but when I write him, when doesn't he need a hug?).


	10. to part

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Apologize for the late post (again). I fell into a short coma. =3

Story note: What? A no-Raoul chapter? What madness?

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 10 - … to part

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Erik sat in the Vicomte's chair in the den, his elbows on the desk, face buried in his hands. It was late into the night already, but he was wide-awake. The moon shone through the window, lighting it more than the single candle he had taken the effort to light did. Much of the house was cast in darkness – mostly because Erik was more comfortable in the dark since he didn't have his mask. Letting out a sigh, he tried to calm his beating heart. Somehow, waiting for her to return right now was worse than the anticipation he had felt earlier.

It was probably because so much had changed since then. Christine's severity and the Vicomte's resigned helpfulness had changed the dynamic of their connection to each other. It was already obvious, had been obvious, that the Vicomte's and Christine's relationship had changed. They weren't as sickeningly in love with each other as they had once been. Well, admittedly, he could still see remnants of the lovesick boy in Raoul, but he hadn't even seen a glimpse of that old Christine when they had been talking earlier.

He could grudgingly admit that his and the Vicomte's relationship had changed as well – given the opportunity, Erik might actually hesitate in killing the blonde. The Vicomte had already proven that he _would _hesitate in killing him.

Now, that left one conclusion. His and Christine's relationship would have changed as well. Isn't that what he wanted though? The change that let them be together. Who knew what change would occur though? He could only wait, but he'd been waiting for so long now. He was almost beginning to think that the Vicomte had lied to him about her returning, and instead of leaving the house to him, the blonde had gone after her himself.

Yet, Erik couldn't see that happening. He was almost certain that the man was still on the estate somewhere. When he'd finally come back to himself after having the Vicomte walk out on him, he'd looked down the driveway and didn't see anyone leave the estate. It didn't matter where the Vicomte was though, Erik reminded himself. All that mattered was that he wasn't here right now and the fact that neither was Christine.

Sighing for what felt like the tenth time in the past few seconds, he knew he shouldn't have decided to sit down. He hadn't even been sitting for very long. He'd spent the time after the Vicomte's departure walking through the man's house to distract himself from the nervous anticipation that had immediately begun to build at the thought that he would speak with Christine and be able to take her away from here. He found that he desperately needed the distraction from his racing thoughts.

At first, he'd been cautious, not wanting to have to deal with the blonde's servants. After all, he was a stranger in the house, not to mention the fact that he had no mask. Surely, there would be some problems if anyone saw him. However, as he walked, he noticed that no one was in the house ay longer. He could see signs of people having left in the middle of their duties not so much in a rush, but without any regard of finishing.

He knew that only the Vicomte could have done something. Erik was rather appreciative of the gesture but didn't dwell on that feeling towards the Vicomte. He continued his exploration of the house, room by room at first trying to think of what he was going to say to Christine before deciding that his thoughts always circling back to taking her by force was no longer productive. Force should be the last option, considering how effective force had been that first time.

Regardless of what she'd said, he could still believe that she might go with him willingly. She probably only said such things in front of the Vicomte, said only because she wanted to prove a point. She didn't mean it. She couldn't mean it because this was their first _real_ chance to be together. There was no opera house to distract her. The Vicomte had stepped aside. There was absolutely no one else to meddle or interrupt them.

The Vicomte had arranged all of it. And that was also bothersome. Accepting this kindness even when he knew of the blonde's ulterior motives didn't sit well with him. In fact, when he wasn't thinking of Christine, his thoughts tended to drift towards the Vicomte.

The man was annoying at best. He wanted to be kind to Erik, and that was simply not right. Erik didn't want to think of the blonde, but the fact was that he couldn't help it. He was surrounded by everything that the Vicomte owned. Erik had looked through all the portraits. He did have to admit that it had been a good distraction. He even went so far as to look through the drawers, moving things around to make a point that he was not some houseguest. However, he didn't think he could possibly annoy the Vicomte. The man's reactions earlier convinced Erik that the blonde wouldn't even care.

The lovesick boy was strangely apathetic when confronted. His voice was resigned when he spoke, as though getting the words out took that much effort. What had the boy admitted so easily though? 'It was nice to have someone.' Did the Vicomte really mean _him_ when he'd said those words? It was strange to hear, even stranger that he could almost understand the sentiment. That was what Christine was to him. That someone.

The sound of the door opening drew him out of his musings.

o.o.o

Christine entered the house slowly.

It was rather dark and quiet. It seemed that the servants were all asleep. Only a few of the candles were lit. If it weren't for the moon outside and her familiarity with the house, she would have not been able to navigate her way to the stairs. She paused at the bottom of the stairway and closed her eyes, listening to see if anyone were still awake.

She'd made certain to stay out as late as possible, hoping that Raoul would deal with the ghost in the mean time. If he weren't lying of course. The ghost in the house? The idea was absurd. The more she'd had time to think about it the more she was certain he'd been lying. Why would the ghost stay in the house? Raoul and the ghost hated each other, didn't they? It made no sense. The only reason that she could think of that Raoul would tell such a lie would be to force them into an early marriage. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

Not hearing anything, she headed up the stairs. So focused on not tripping on the next step, it wasn't until she was halfway up the stairs before she realized that someone was standing at the top. Sighing, Christine didn't hide her annoyance, glad that it was dark enough for her not to have to hide it. She just wanted to go to sleep right now.

Assuming it was Raoul, she shook her head. "Not right now, Raoul. I'm too tired to deal with you."

Erik raised an eyebrow, still a little surprised at the tone she took with the Vicomte. He cleared his throat. Even in the dark, he could see her expression. He still couldn't understand why she would act this way towards the Vicomte. She was returning to _his_ house. He pushed those thoughts away.

It seemed that the boy knew her well enough to know she would return no matter what sort of argument they had. Could Erik say the same thing? If he and Christine were to fight, he would not let her leave from his side. Otherwise, he would fear she would leave and never return.

The Vicomte even knew her patterns. He'd been patient. Erik was not a patient man. He wouldn't coddle her. Perhaps, that was exactly what she needed.

"Hello, Christine."

Christine stopped walking and retreated several steps back. When Erik walked forward, Christine retreated all the way to the bottom of the stairs, stumbling along the way. It was only her death grip on the banister that kept her upright.

"You," she said accusingly. Erik could almost dare call it hatred, but decided that was simply his imagination.

Christine looked around frantically. The door was behind her, but she wasn't going to risk leaving the safety of a house that had several things at hand that she could throw. Outside, she was fairly certain that the ghost would easily be able to catch up to her.

"What did you do to Raoul?" She maneuvered herself so that she could run through the dining room if Erik moved too close.

Erik frowned and stepped forward. Her gasp told him that she had finally seen his face. He'd forgotten that he'd been maskless when she walked into the house. He'd forgotten that she would react to his face; he might have actually grown accustomed to the Vicomte's non-reaction to not only his nudity but also his face. It was sad that he couldget a reaction from her without effort when he couldn't get a reaction from the Vicomte when he wanted it.

He briefly wondered why he was thinking of the Vicomte at a time like this before focusing his entire attention on Christine. At least she hadn't screamed. She wasn't fainting either, so perhaps she only reacted because it had been a while since she had last seen his face.

She'd touched it. Kissed him even. She could learn not to react every time.

He answered her, "I did nothing to the Vicomte."

She practically spat at him, "Liar. Raoul would never let you near me."

"Your _precious Vicomte_," Erik was annoyed to note that there wasn't enough malice in the supposed insult, "is the one who suggested we speak. Do you not remember?"

She refused to believe what he said, but could think of nothing to reply. His very presence made her want to run. This was what she had wanted to avoid. This man was poison. He would suffocate and kill her. She had given him all she could have before she left. She knew that now. There was nothing else she could give him.

"We can go now," Erik tried to make her understand, his tone of voice turned soothing. Surely, she could see now that they were free to escape from everything. He could take her away from her past. If that was Raoul's problem, then he would be able to remedy it. "We can leave Paris. We can leave France. We can go anywhere you want."

She shook her head resolutely, eyes not quite meeting his. "I'm not going with you."

Erik stared at her in disbelief. She wasn't happy with her life with the Vicomte; that much was obvious. "Why? Why don't you want to go with me? Is it because of this?" He indicated his deformity.

Her eyes actually softened with something Erik would have called pity. "No. It's not because of that."

"Then why?" He moved closer and she stepped back in response. Seeing her do so made something within his chest seize. He was no better than the Vicomte.

"You terrorize. You kidnap. You _murder_." Her voice rose with each example.

Erik defensively answered, "It was all for you. For your future."

"No," she replied immediately, "It was for yourself."

Erik couldn't stand where their conversation was heading, so he changed the focus. "Do you really care for this Vicomte?"

Christine recognized the deflection for what it was. "I cared for _you_ once. I cried for you. I can't give you more."

Erik couldn't believe what he was hearing. In fact, he refused to believe it. Somehow, this was all the Vicomte's fault; he just couldn't figure out how just yet. The boy had been with him all this time. He couldn't have coached Christine, and what he'd seen in the hallway hadn't seemed orchestrated. The boy looked tired. Erik was certain he knew what that looked like after having been with the blonde two whole days.

"And the kiss? Did that mean nothing to you?" He pressed. Everything felt as though it were spiraling out of control. Out of _his _control. Right now, they were supposed to be leaving this place, this estate, away from it all so that he and Christine could start anew. She somehow felt further from him right now than she had ever felt before in his life.

Christine actually approached him. She smiled sadly and reached out. This time Erik was the one to flinch away. Pulling her hand back, she looked at it. "That…" her voice was soft, barely audible, but in the silence of the empty household, it sounded much too loud to his ears. "That was all I could give you. I _can't _love you. Could never. Not after everything you've done."

She tried to make him understand that she knew all too well that with Erik's personality, with his obsession, she would eventually be consumed. She would lose herself and lose everything she'd gained from the experience at the opera house. She knew that now. As alluring as her Angel of Music was, he was just as dangerous. It was dangerous to lose herself in that illusion.

It all came down to those illusions she had been building ever since she'd been a child. She was tired of illusions, tired of believing in angels sent by her father, of loves that lasted forever. Those illusions had burned as the opera house had, leaving a shell, one that still needed time to be rebuilt. If she went with the opera ghost now, she'd have no hope of having the life she wanted, the one that she had been gradually been building up with her own strength.

Erik recoiled, as though he had been physically assaulted. She said she couldn't love him. Could fear not turn to love?

"But I love you," Erik admitted, hoping to make her understand that his wasn't some obsession. He truly loved her. "Together we can go to any opera and build a new life. You can be the prima donna anywhere."

Instead of seeing her smile as he expected her to, she grimaced and looked at him in disbelief. "What can I say to make you understand?"

"Understand what, Christine?" He almost yelled but caught himself. His whole body was tense as he held himself back from approaching her. Why didn't she understand that after everything that had happened, they needed to be together?

She opened and closed her mouth several times before simply saying, "I chose."

And Erik reached the end of his patience at those two small words. He thought back to the defeat in Raoul's posture, the nervousness in just confronting her. It had taken the Vicomte two days to build up the courage to speak with her, to find her. She lived in his house, ate his food, ordered his servants around, and still refused to marry him. How was that her choosing? He let out a bark of laughter so loud that she started in surprise.

"You haven't chosen, _dearest angel_," his endearment for her was spoken sarcastically. "You _will_ choose now. I am not the Vicomte. I will not let you just say the words."

Apparently, he had said the wrong thing. Her shoulders straightened and she finally looked him truly in the eyes. Her expression hardened and she sneered.

Erik stared at her, as though this were truly the first time he were seeing her.

"I told you good-bye," she stated firmly.

He smirked. He heard the words and still didn't care. Even though he didn't know this person who was currently standing in front of him, he did know that he would have her. She looked like Christine. He didn't care if she didn't sound or act like her.

He reached out. Grabbing her arm before she could dodge, he yanked her towards the door. Christine screamed, but instead of allowing him to drag her away waiting for someone to save her, as she would have done in the past, she grabbed the nearest item she could reach and swung it at Erik.

Unfortunately for him, that item happened to be iron lamp. As it connected with his head solidly, his head snapped to the side. He released her arm and fell to the floor unconscious. Christine didn't bother looking back as she ran out of the house. All her things were inside still, but she didn't care. She didn't know when or if she would return. All she knew was that she had to leave.

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End Chapter 10

Word count: 2,803

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Hahaha. I just realized Erik was hit in the head a second time.


	11. to permit

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: There's weird jumping back in time and I don't know exactly why I did it like this, but I figured I might as well try it out. Crossing my fingers that it doesn't detract from the story – though honestly, there isn't much plot. I could sum up what happens in this chapter in like one sentence, but at least you'll know their motivations/reactions.

Story note: Raoul's finally back in the picture and he has an embarrassing moment.

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Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 11 - … to permit

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Raoul opened the back door slowly, wincing as it creaked. Looking around the darkened kitchen, he saw no movement. He didn't actually expect to run into anyone, considering the fact that he had given all of his staff the day off until this afternoon. He was just the slightest bit reluctant to be seen right now.

The whole house was dark though. As he'd walked up to it, that had been the first thing he noticed; no one had lit any candles. That was to be expected. The ghost hadn't needed to use the kitchen or the other rooms.

He knew it had been the right thing to do, telling his servants to leave. More than that, it had been right to tell the ghost to stay. However, now it was unbearably quiet, and he was tempted to lament the fact that he had given the ghost leave to speak with Christine. At least when she had been in the house, it hadn't felt like this. It hadn't felt empty, but Raoul had known this would happen.

He had hoped that things would be different, but after so long, the reality of their situation had forcibly settled in his mind. Technically, it had been the ghost's presence that had been the source of this new sense of reality. His presence only reminded Raoul of what they'd left behind in the opera house. It reminded him of the past that Christine couldn't seem to leave and blamed him for reminding her of. He laughed bitterly to himself. It hadn't been doubt that had gradually eaten away at his dreams to live with Christine, to love her and share everything with her; it had been reality.

And now, she was gone.

After leaving the ghost, he had gone directly to the garden. It had been the perfect place to wait out Christine's and the ghost's impending conversation. She never went to the garden, never bothered to pass by because she believed that the only good flower was one that had been cut and offered to her. So before, when Raoul had reached the point where he was tired of looking for her, he would hide in the gardens. He knew it now to be a small rebellion on his part – make himself inaccessible to her if she did in fact need to find him, but she never searched and Raoul was never found.

He didn't want to admit that he was near enough to the driveway to be able to see when someone arrived or left. He had seen her arrive and subsequently, her leave. In truth, he _really_ hadn't wanted to see them leave. It had simply been his curiosity. Noise caught his attention while he had been sitting against a tree. He'd moved to a position just in time to see her back as she ran by. Raoul didn't even wait to see the ghost follow or where she would go. Seeing her back had been enough for him to know that she had been leaving for good.

Turning away from the sight, he'd run to the back of his estate where the trees grew taller and no set path cut through it. The moonlight was hardly enough to light the way as he fought through the brambles and twigs that caught at his clothes and tangled in his hair. He'd tripped over several roots before finally giving up. He stayed on the floor where he had fallen and muffled his scream with his arms.

She'd chosen.

He'd let out a heaving sob. He should feel relieved, right? After all, hadn't he prepared himself for this? Hadn't he thought that he couldn't keep saying he loved her only to have it rebuked?

The truth was Raoul still loved her. He loved the girl who owned the scarf he saved. He loved the girl who had sung her heart out on stage, loved how she looked at him so guilelessly as they shared memories of their past, loved how she shook in his arms and clung to him in her fear. He loved her even when she had avoided him, when she hadn't been able to look at him. God, despite everything that had happened, he still loved her. And it felt as though someone had reached into his chest and pulled out his heart.

The pain was there even now, hours later. It was almost morning and Raoul had managed to tire himself out. Staying up all night shouldn't have affected him, especially since he'd hardly been able to sleep through a night for a while now, but he was.

Things had changed. He knew they would once she'd chosen. Now he was alone, just barely able to compose himself. He promised himself life would get better, better than when he'd constantly wondered what she thought of him. She hadn't thought much apparently. Now that he knew, he could move on, but right now, he wanted to wallow in his sorrow.

Dragging himself up the stairs, Raoul entered his room and dropped on his bed face first. Sleep would be nice. He relaxed into the familiar comfort and breathed in deeply. He paused before breathing in again. His bed smelled odd. It smelled like… He stopped breathing immediately when he remembered who had been the last person to sleep in his bed. He blushed when he realized what it must look like he was doing. He was only glad that no one around to witness it. He didn't even know why he had been embarrassed in the first place.

Turning his head to the side so that he could breathe without having to breathe in the ghost's scent, he paused once more. Squinting, he noticed that there was light coming from his den. For a moment, he fought with the decision of whether to stand up or not. Standing up seemed to be a good idea right now. That was awfully nice of the ghost to leave candles lit in his empty home; maybe they would melt and then burn his house down. He pushed the door open and stopped in his tracks.

The ghost was seated in his chair, a bandage rather poorly wrapped around his head. His face was partially in shadow and Raoul realized belatedly that it was the ghost's deformed side. He blinked once, wondering if the fatigue had finally caught up to him. Nothing else seemed to explain why the ghost would still be in his house.

Erik had heard the Vicomte walk up the stairs and enter the bedroom. He knew it had only been a matter of time before the boy realized someone was in his study. So, Erik had been prepared when he opened the door. He'd put on his best glare, hoping to dissuade the man from making any unnecessary comments. Surprisingly true to form, the Vicomte didn't react the way that Erik expected him to. He was beginning to think all his expectations of the boy would be proven incorrect. Then again, nothing was going as planned.

He'd woken with blood on his head, prostrate on the floor with a stabbing pain in the back of his head. It had taken him a good while before he'd even begun to consider standing up.

His first thought had been of death, because surely, this was an indication that he should finally die. The wound on his head, the weakness of his limbs, the ache in his chest. He should remain on the floor and simply die. Ha. But he wouldn't die here. He was in the Vicomte's house. The wound on his head probably wasn't even that bad if he had woken up not long after her departure, even if he were still a little dizzy. And, a part of his mind had added, the stupid Vicomte would eventually find him and then nurse him back to perfect health.

Erik had imagined the warm hand and gentle touches. It was almost tempting, almost, but definitely not enough to want to live. He had hoped that his mind would supplement Christine's hands in his fantasy but no. They were definitely Raoul's hands. Christine's hands as he had grabbed hers had been cold. She _had_ come from the outside, and while it wasn't terribly cold outside, it would have given her an excuse. Raoul's hands were unbelievable warm as he remembered them. Erik could just feel them running through his hair, checking his wound.

He had known he should get up before he had to go through _that_ again. He'd tried to pushing himself up several times but only succeeded in falling over again.

Why would he want to live though? The woman he loved with his whole being had left him. She left him no hope that she'd ever be able to see him as anything more than a monster. Her words to the Vicomte hadn't been idle. Erik now believed that she saw him to be a monster. She had called him a murderer. Why couldn't she see that it had been for them, so that they could stay together? Why couldn't she understand that they were meant to be?

His second thought had been to chase her. If he couldn't die, then he didn't want to live his life out without her. He would find her. He wasn't the Vicomte. He wasn't going to give up just because she'd refused him when he'd offered her the world. He wasn't going to let her go away because his obsession could run deeper than any betrayal.

His third thought had been to wait a bit longer. As the pain in his head dulled to an acceptable throb, Erik's mind had raced through everything that had happened. He was tired. Maybe he hadn't recovered from his initial injury and surely, the second injury in possibly the same area hadn't helped. He thought about Christine's life in the opera house. Her promise as a singer. The look of awe and adoration she'd had before she knew who he'd been. Then, it had been fear and pity. He didn't need her pity. He'd wanted her love. Yet, all he'd received in the end was a kiss and a declaration that was all he'd get for his love for her. That was all he'd get for everything he'd ever given her.

Yes, he could wait. He had forced himself to first focus on getting bandages and healing. Then, he'd search of course.

He just didn't know what he'd do when he found her. He couldn't return home to the opera house. The only thing that waited for him there was death. He'd decided shortly after realizing that he wouldn't die in the Vicomte's house that he didn't want to die in _his_ house either. He didn't want to die because Christine had refused him. He was going to live and perhaps find her. Perhaps. But until then, he'd need to get better. He would need to survive.

Given that motivation, Erik had managed to make it up the stairs and into the den where he knew the bandages to be. There was even a wash bin there that he'd used to clean his head from the blood. It had been difficult but he wrapped it himself.

He had placed his head on the desk, telling himself he'd rest before he decided what to do next. He still needed to ask the Vicomte where Christine would probably head to now. He hadn't wanted to give the boy the satisfaction of knowing that he'd failed, but he hadn't wanted to search without having at least some idea of where she'd be. At some point, he'd fallen asleep, but the sound of footsteps had woken him. Now, the Vicomte was before him, not gloating. Not saying anything in fact. This was an interesting turn of events. Quickly scanning his options, Erik realized that he might be able to take advantage of the boy and rather easily too.

Glaring less, he briefly wondered what the Vicomte had been doing in his absence. His clothes were in disarray and a there was a tear near the collar. Was that a twig in his hair? Well, if the Vicomte had gone gallivanting around then maybe he didn't know that Erik had, in fact, spoken with Christine, and if he didn't, then that ignorance might work to his benefit. He would be able to use the Vicomte and his house while he recuperated.

Erik offered no explanation to the new bandages on his head. Said nothing in fact, waiting for the Vicomte to make the first move so that he could gauge how to react.

Raoul stared at the ghost, his thoughts drifting back towards watching Christine run from the house. The ghost would have easily seen her. She hadn't known he was there, so she had to have made it into the house. Even if she didn't, the ghost was waiting; he'd have forced them to have a conversation. He'd have done what Raoul hadn't been able to do. Make her choose.

Somehow, it wasn't terribly surprising that Christine hadn't chosen the ghost either. And he had yet to decide whether that was worse or better than not knowing who she chose in the first place. Not choosing anyone at all? Raoul hadn't even thought of that option. Hadn't thought Christine would do that to them.

Yet, he knew that when he'd seen her leave, it had been final. That thought didn't change. She really left him. No, she had left them.

He didn't know why the man was still here. If anything, he'd expected that the ghost would have gone after her immediately. Unless he hadn't been able to. Those bandages probably weren't for show. The man was injured again and he probably wouldn't have made it very far. He breathed in deeply and could suddenly smell the ghost even across the room. Raoul looked away, trying to focus. What was best?

Leave the man. Let him figure out what to do now that Christine had left him again. Raoul still needed to figure out what _he_ would do next. Staying in Paris seemed too painful, but Christine might have left as well. He might run into her in another city, in another place, and surely then, that city would be ruined as well. It was pointless really. All he could do was stay, but in this empty house? In the house that had so many memories of her? He needed someone else here.

He glanced at the ghost. The man hadn't moved. He had to be really injured if he wasn't moving, if he wasn't leaving. But where would he go? The ghost had no one to make sure he got better. No one.

And Raoul's heart, the one he'd thought Christine had taken with her went out to the ghost. This was not by any means smart, wasn't by any means something he would do if he gave himself time to think about it, but Christine's departure hurt and he could wallow in that pain later. He would. She deserved to be mourned. But for now, it was easier to focus on someone else's pain.

"Let me fix that," he nodded towards the ghost's head, "I don't want any blood on my pillows."

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 11

Word count: 2,554

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: I thought it was good, but really, that's just me. Not to mention the fact that Raoul just majorly sniffed the ghost (albeit by proxy).


	12. to resist

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: No profound moments. Raoul's lingering much too much on Christine and Erik's making excuses. ^__^

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 12 - … to resist

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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Raoul went from sleep to wakefulness in a moment. It was how he woke up nowadays, and after Christine had left, he'd thought he would go back to his older habits. He thought that he'd wake in the morning only after his servants knocked on his door several times and had begun to yell at him for his tardiness. That didn't happen though.

Not moving, he simply opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He listened closely to hear the sound that had woken him, but nothing caught his attention. It was morning. The servants should be moving about, but nowhere near his room. He could faintly hear some birdsong, and he knew that if he turned his head just a bit, he'd be able to look out the window. He'd see sun streaming through. He didn't have enough energy to do even that.

It was all simply too disappointing, his life at the moment, her decision, his reaction. Nothing had really changed. He knew it was to be expected though. He was still in the mourning period; he hadn't let go of her just yet. It was difficult. He still had those nightmares; so as much as memories plagued him while he was awake, sleep wasn't kind to him either. Moreover, how could he get a good night's rest in general? He was sleeping in a bed that wasn't his on sheets that were once hers. In fact, this whole room had been Christine's.

Closing his eyes again, he hoped to shut out those thoughts. Maybe he could spend the whole day in bed; maybe he could forget everything and sulk in peace.

That would be pointless though. He'd have to get up eventually. There was food, work, and of course, there was still the ghost. He hadn't been able to stay in bed knowing that the ghost would know he was this pathetic. He hadn't cared the morning after Christine had left that the ghost was in his house. He'd simply stayed in the room, suffering in not-quite silence. He'd torn through all her clothes, half-crazed and half-cautious. These were her things. He'd been torn between wanting to destroy them and wanting to save them so that he could at least remember her, to have keepsakes, or just in case she came back. It was always that last hope that made him hate himself and stifle frustrated yells.

She wasn't coming back. He knew it. Absolutely was certain. And every time, he would hope that he was wrong. He'd have that moment where he was just as certain that she would return. Even when he had those moments, he'd come to the same conclusion. Nothing would change. If she came back, what would happen? They'd probably live in the same house. He'd have to kick the ghost out of course, but then Christine would still avoid him. She would still refuse to let them be in the same room together. She herself would become a ghost in his household.

Was that any different than it was now? She was there in his head. Always a thought away, as though she were still just a room away or just down the stairs, avoiding him.

Raoul opened his eyes and forced himself to stand up, forced himself to start his day. She was here in this room, all too present and he suddenly wanted to run away from her.

Breakfast. Food would be nice. He'd lost his appetite since that day, but sometimes, his stomach would growl. Sometimes, it was just something he could do that required little thought. Sometimes, he'd actually feel the weakness from having not eaten the whole day. It wasn't fair to his servants anyway. They prepared his meals whenever he asked and they put so much effort into it. He felt obligated to show some gratitude. He wasn't quite used to being concerned about showing gratitude. They were his servants, but after everything, well, he'd changed his attitude about gratitude.

Things _were_ different though, he thought as he stepped out into his hallway, just not in the way he'd hoped. Casting one more look into Christine's room, he closed the door firmly. It was different because of the ghost, _with_ the ghost. Raoul couldn't regret his decision to let the ghost remain in his house because admittedly, it was nice that he wasn't alone. Just the knowledge that someone else was choosing to stay in his house was comforting and in a way, it was nicer than when Christine had been his company. He was just waiting for the ghost to leave too though, just waiting for him to vanish one day.

The ghost hadn't left the day after Christine left as Raoul thought he would. He was waiting for the ghost to ask the big question.

Where would Christine be?

But the ghost hadn't asked, hadn't just stayed one day. One day turned to two, two to three, and now, this would be the end of their first week of living together. Somehow they were still alive. He just couldn't understand why. After the fourth day, when the ghost's head had sufficiently healed, he'd stopped wondering and just resigned himself to the expectation that every morning he'd be wondering if the ghost were still in his home.

Oddly enough though, where he thought that his estate was quite large when Christine lived with him, it seemed much too small with the ghost. Everywhere Raoul turned, the ghost seemed to be just a few paces away. It wasn't as though the man were following him though. The ghost would be coming from the other direction completely and then not pay attention to him at all. There was no extra attention. The man simply lurked – and it was lurking, because Raoul noticed it was only when he was around him that he didn't attempt to cover his face – through the hallways and in every room. No place was sacred, but at the same time, the ghost was unobtrusive, as though because he could hold so still and keep so quiet that people tended to disregard him, ignore his very presence. His servants hadn't needed extra coaxing after the initial shock that the ghost was to be staying with them to not bother him. They ignored him as well as he ignored them.

Raoul found such a thing impossible. Whenever the ghost was in a room, he was unable to notice anything but the ghost even when they'd been in such close quarters. It had simply been easier to distract himself with Christine than focus on the ghost. Now that Christine was gone though, the only thing that he could focus on was the ghost. That was why he'd gotten no work done in the past week. He'd avoided his bedroom and den whenever he could. He could almost swear that the man's eyes followed him, and Raoul didn't want to hide his sorrow at Christine's absence. He didn't want to show his rival this particular weakness, one that he'd been unable to work through. So, after the ghost had shown signs that he would heal with no further complications, Raoul had begun to actively avoid him.

He'd realized rather quickly that the ghost didn't like going outside – Raoul assumed it was because he didn't have a mask anymore. So, he spent much of the last few days outside, in the stables and in the gardens. He'd yet to find the ability to go beyond his estate though.

He would come upon the gate and suddenly feel as though he were suffocating. His mind would race and he'd be unable to breathe. Dizziness would settle then and he'd be forced to stumble away to find shelter in his home and even though he wouldn't admit it, he'd hope that the ghost would happen across him again. Just one glance and his heart would calm. He'd be able to breathe again.

Raoul let out another sigh before heading downstairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, he paused as the ghost passed him. Time seemed to slow. The ghost held his gaze as he walked by, not bothering to hide his deformity almost daring him to say something, daring him to question his very presence in his home. Raoul couldn't. His heart felt like it was somewhere in his throat, and he couldn't breathe. The ghost's eyes held him still. He didn't think he could look away if he wanted to. Why would he want to though? The only reason he could tell the days apart was by their interactions with each other. But _this_ was a different look.

Then just as suddenly, the moment was gone. The ghost walked up the stairs not even once looking back, but even as expected as that was, Raoul knew that something drastic had changed between them in just that moment.

Raoul swallowed with some difficulty before heading directly outside. He needed space, a little more space. Being alone, for the first time in a long while, seemed desirable.

o.o.o

Erik paused at the top of the stairs when he heard the Vicomte leave the house. Sitting down at the top step, he glared down the stairs. The boy had left the house again.

He wasn't going to follow. No. He didn't need the blonde's company, and if he went outside, it would be like he _wanted_ his company. That wasn't the case. Staying inside was making a statement against both Christine and Raoul. If he left, then it showed some kind of weakness; there was absolutely no reason to leave the house.

In fact, he hadn't stepped foot outside in a week. The Vicomte hadn't complained, but then again, Erik hadn't thought that he would. Erik, on the other hand, had asked himself hundreds of times why he was still on the Chagny estate. He was well enough now, had been for the past four days. He remembered because it had been four days since the Vicomte had stopped coming by the room to give him his nightly check up. It had been four days since Raoul had given him that worried frown, four days since he had run his fingers through his hair and gently tested the tenderness around the area he'd been injured.

Yes, he was healing perfectly, hadn't expected there to be any problems, but at the time when those warm hands stopped their ministrations, he almost wished that there had been complications. But, he blamed such thoughts on the head injury and Christine's absence.

He was just using the Vicomte of course. The only thing he needed was a place to stay for a while to recuperate. He didn't need the boy's company or sought him out.

There'd been that one time. He had really only sought him out on the second night of his stay, waiting until the Vicomte left the room before following just to find out where he had been sleeping. Erik had rather gotten used to his presence in the den or in the chair beside his bed. The change was disturbing the sleep he should have been getting.

Pausing when the blonde entered the bedroom, Erik could only stare in disbelief. If he hadn't already known, the hesitation and flash of pain that crossed the boy's features at the door would have told him all he needed to know about whose room it was exactly. He couldn't understand why the Vicomte would choose to sleep in Christine's room when there were about six other bedrooms he could have been staying in. It was unnecessary pain and incredibly stupid.

He could picture the room in his head and could just imagine the Vicomte sleeping in her bed, tear-stained cheeks and red eyes. Erik scoffed. How much more torture did the blonde need? He'd lived with her yet never spoke with her. He'd stolen her yet offered her back. She'd left him yet now he surrounded himself with her presence. Erik almost gagged at how disgusted he was with the Vicomte's actions.

He couldn't help himself though as he crept up to the door. He wanted to hear the boy cry and hear his broken voice because it was only fair. The boy wanted this; so he deserved to suffer. Of all the rooms to choose, why had he chosen hers?

Yet, even as he had approached the door, certain not to make a single noise, he had hesitated. He'd already seen the boy miserable, seen him beaten and as he leaned his ear against the door to hear those sobs, he knew it wouldn't bring him joy. There was no victory in the Vicomte's suffering because they'd both lost. They'd both promised her everything they could possibly give her and she had refused them _both_.

Erik had left the boy to suffer, but had been unable to leave the estate to chase after her since then. He told himself that the time wasn't right. Not yet. He'd know when the time was right.

To pass said time, he did the only thing that made sense. He watched the Vicomte. He followed him, secretly of course, to watch him. Just to see how long the boy would allow him to stay of course. It wasn't difficult for them to cross paths in the house. He could almost imagine how easy it had been for Christine to avoid him. The Vicomte never tried to hide his presence. His footsteps were distinctive and in a house such as this one where there was so much silence, it wasn't difficult to hear the boy approaching.

More than that, he could feel his misery everywhere in the house. It was as though the Vicomte were leaving a trail of sorts in hopes that someone would find him, would track him down. And it wasn't difficult for Erik to follow that trail, to seek him out, not to comfort him but because he was very close to reaching his limit with the Vicomte's depression.

All the boy did was mope and frown. Had she been that great?

Erik remembered her as she had been on stage, resplendent. He always thought that memory first before he thought of her as the one he'd brought down to his lair – that girl hadn't been everything he'd hoped. She'd been less and shown him worse. No, she _hadn't_ been that great. She was above all other women – that was easy for Erik to concede, but after everything that had happened in his life and between them, that hardly meant as much as it should have. There would be no one like Christine, and Erik could only be grateful for that fact. No one would ever hurt him as much.

He tried not to think too much on his feelings for Christine. He didn't want to think about how his anger was overpowering the need to have her. He didn't want to think about who she had become or how she had betrayed him.

It hadn't been hard to distract himself from thoughts by watching the Vicomte, but more and more, the boy was beginning to avoid him. It was annoying because that trail of misery the boy left was almost too tempting; he wanted to follow even if it meant going outside. The Vicomte would leave the house and Erik would go to the second floor, walking from room to room to find the perfect view from the windows to see him just to satisfy that urge.

Then, the Vicomte would look towards the driveway and for a second there would be hope and Erik wanted to smack that hope out of him. He wanted to yell that she wasn't going to come back for him, for either of them, and if anything, the boy should just give up. He could just imagine the wounded look on his face if he ever did so, could just imagine him turn his head quickly, his hair swinging down from behind his ear to cover his face. The boy would sigh before nodding, and that would only anger Erik more even if he didn't quite understand why.

How could he have possibly lost to him? To a Vicomte who gives up on first loves and lies as a beaten dog at a woman's heels?

Christine would not return on her own. They'd have to chase after her. Erik would have to chase after her, but it just wasn't time.

What did she think she was doing denying them both her love anyway? It was one or the other. There was never the option to leave them both. If she did, then it only meant that she had been using them.

If only the boy had never come, then his Christine would have never acted as such. He clung to that thought as much as he reminded himself that the only reason he was staying was because the timing was not right just yet. He could feel it in his bones.

But until then, he let all his focus be consumed by the Vicomte. Only, of course, because if the Vicomte didn't get over Christine, then they'd only be put in the same situation as before. The boy would chase after her and she would use him as an excuse. They would still be competing for the same woman.

It was about time for the Vicomte to stop loving her. Erik stood up and purposefully strode down the stairs and out the door. He knew exactly where he would find the blonde.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter

Word count: 2,926

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Oh, delusions. This one could have been edited better, but it's already evening. So, wait for more Erik/Raoul interaction in the next chapter.


	13. to accept

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: It's a bit longer than normal. Can I use that as an excuse as to why it's late?

A/N: Raoul's extremely annoying in this one because he loves Christine entirely too much. Erik's kind of annoying too.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 13 - … to accept

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

To find the Vicomte, all Erik really had to do was stop ignoring that trail of sorrow. He already knew where the boy would be though, considering how quickly he'd run from the house. Erik had unsettled him, and whenever the blonde was confronted with a problem of sorts, he went to the same place. So predictable.

Erik had heard him wake up, not that he'd intentionally been outside Christine's room. He'd simply been taking his morning walk, and if that so happened to also lead him down the stairs only to backtrack and go back up the stairs at just the right time to pass the blonde, then he really couldn't be held accountable for disturbing him in the first place.

He could admit that he had been searching the blonde's gaze though. He'd been looking for any sign that the Vicomte was getting better, that he was finally moving on from Christine. What he'd seen in his eyes though had been something else. That sorrow was still there, so plainly written in the defeated slump of his shoulders and the constant sighing. Obviously, the blonde had yet to move on from Christine. That was why he was leaving the house into the bright sunlight that hurt his eyes in the first place to search for him, but there had been something like relief that Erik had seen in the Vicomte's eyes. Relief?

Always with the blonde, Erik never knew what to expect. First kindness and now relief. The only looks of relief Erik had ever received were when people thought he had finally left. He'd even purposely shown his deformity to him, but that look of relief had been replaced by, Erik could almost say, familiarity. He'd seen that reaction for just the barest of moments, but it had been there. That was stupid; of course he was familiar, he had been in the house for more than a week.

The Vicomte hadn't even asked why he was still there even though the question was obvious in his eyes. After all the mourning he'd seen the boy doing, Erik could no longer assume that he hadn't seen Christine leaving. Neither of them expected her to return. While Erik was biding his time, the blonde was mourning. It was the only explanation that made sense. Once again instead of gloating about it, the Vicomte was simply allowing him to stay. Erik didn't know what the blonde was thinking or what he was trying to accomplish.

He slowed as he approached the particular garden that the Vicomte seemed to have an affinity for. He didn't want to alert the boy of his presence prematurely and to be able to do so, he'd have to be extremely silent.

o.o.o

Raoul stared at the rose in his hand before closing his eyes. He couldn't understand what was wrong with him. The ghost hadn't even done anything; he'd simply been looking at him. Something definitely felt different about that particular glare though. It hadn't even been a glare; perhaps that's why it felt different. All the ghost ever really did when he saw him was glare at him. It started when he had been recuperating and it continued to even now. Raoul couldn't really imagine why since the ghost was now healthy. Glaring seemed rather passive – he'd never thought of the ghost as passive. If the man _really_ hated him, then he should leave his home or kill him. Neither had happened and Raoul always attributed that to the fact that the man still probably wanted information on Christine.

Christine. Raoul frowned at the mere thought of her. She was gone. God only knew where she was right now, what she was doing. He tried to stop himself about wondering about those specific details though. Thankfully, it wasn't very difficult. He'd gotten so used to ignoring her presence from his home, from wondering what she was doing every second of the day that maybe it had ultimately been a blessing that Christine had lived with him for so long and had avoided him. It prepared him for this moment.

Raoul squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the scream that was building within him.

It hurt so much. He apparently wasn't as good as he'd initially thought. He didn't like thinking of her being happy with someone else, somewhere else, having forgotten about him completely already. No. He didn't want her to be happy without him, and unfortunately, those thoughts never failed to arise at random moments of the day when he thought that maybe he was moving on.

Christine _had_ been wonderful though. He couldn't help but think of the time they had spent together. She'd been beautiful and talented as both a singer and a dancer. Her eyes lit up the room. Her smile made everything look brighter. Her laughter filled him with joy, and her kiss… her kiss made his heart leap. God, they were all there in his memory so readily available to be pulled to the forefront of his thoughts that he could almost believe he was going insane from trying to suppress them.

He knew moving on was possible though. It had to be possible. He'd been too angry with her, too bitter by their interactions with each other that though the good memories were there, they could be tempered by thinking of their last few weeks together. They could be tempered by the fact that they had lived together for so long before she thought to tell him that she wanted to break their engagement. He could remind himself of how she would avoid his touch, of how she avoided him in general. He could remember how happy she had looked to be leaving him and how her mood always darkened when she saw him. He could remember that she had denied both him and the ghost.

In the end though, it was as difficult for him to hate her as it was to love her. So at turns, he would go from one to the other, never able to remain one. It was confusing and tiring, and all it made him do was want to erase her from his memory completely. He didn't want to think of her, but he didn't even know where to start to move on. How could he let her go? He'd thought of their entire future together. He really had.

Life had moved on without him though. Christine was gone. Maybe if he said it enough, he'd be able to simply accept it as fact. The ghost would probably leave as well.

Raoul sighed.

Even though the ghost confused him, his presence didn't hurt as much as Raoul had thought it would. The man had somehow done the impossible. He no longer reminded Raoul of Christine. When Raoul thought of the ghost, he thought of that steady presence on his back as he carried him through the dark Paris streets. He thought of the warmth under his fingers as he touched the man's deformity, remembering how his fingers tingled and how he'd finally been able to clear his thoughts for even just a moment as he explored the ghost's face. He thought of the care he'd given, the times he'd spoken to his unconscious form, the relief of being able to speak to someone, the comfort of hearing someone else's breathing. He thought of those eyes that followed him.

It was odd how the ghost was the first thing he'd been able to erase the image of Christine from. He didn't want to think how that was even possible when his presence could only still be explained by her.

Now, he'd have to learn how to erase Christine from his very home. This garden was a good start. She had nothing to do with this place, his den, or his bedroom. He scoffed at the thought. Of course she had nothing to do with his bedroom.

For some reason, he couldn't help but realize that the ghost was connected to his bedroom though. He shook his head at the thought.

He'd be alone soon enough and then he would be able to figure it all out. Leaving still sounded like a very good idea, but he didn't want to run from his past. That was a last resort, one that he'd rather not have to reach because he _could_ be strong enough to survive by himself. It wouldn't be so bad; at least, that's what he tried to convince himself of.

Sighing once more, he ignored the pain in his chest and forced himself to hope that Christine was happy wherever she was. He hoped that everything she'd done had been worth it.

o.o.o

When Erik got closer to the garden, he wondered if he'd been incorrect about where he'd be able to find the Vicomte. Maybe he didn't know him as well as he thought he did. However, walking past hedges, he caught sight of a familiar foot. He moved so that he'd have a better sight of the Vicomte. About to call out, he found that he didn't want him to know he was there just yet.

The blonde was lying on the floor and though Erik hadn't realized it earlier in the hallway, he noticed that the boy was still in his sleeping clothes, loose trousers and a button down long sleeved shirt. He wasn't even wearing shoes. Somehow, it didn't seem incongruous with his new image of the Vicomte, the one that was always frowning and sighing. Erik could easily imagine the blonde walking through his estate barefoot and running through the yard. He could imagine him laughing as he stood beneath the sun, the one that was currently catching the golden strands that had fanned around his head. One leg was sprawled out and the other was bent, foot planted firmly in the ground. One hand held a rose outstretched to the side while the other arm was flung across his eyes.

For long moments, Erik couldn't speak. He didn't even notice how much the sun was bothering him. He could only stare at the Vicomte before he realized this was what he looked like unguarded. As much as Erik knew the boy didn't hide things from him, he was always guarded. That unconcern he seemed to exude when Erik stared at him was so obviously an act now. His breathing pattern was completely different and his muscles were relaxed. The Vicomte looked young. He looked like the vibrant patron that had first come to the opera house, the one that had driven his own carriage while standing up. Erik's eyes strayed to the tan skin of his jaw. He watched the boy's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed; he watched the move of smooth skin.

This was a boy. He wasn't as young as he appeared though. Erik knew that well enough. This image belied the age the Vicomte carried around with him now. The age showed in his eyes, in the actual fatigue that clung to him, and especially that misery that refused to release him from its hold. Erik was almost tempted to do something to change that though. It was… disappointing to see him in this way. Disappointing – for some reason, that word didn't seem to be the one that had first come to mind, but he refused to think of the word that really embodied what he felt about the boy's situation.

He remembered his main focus for going outside. He wasn't here to answer that call of help that the Vicomte seemed to exude. No, he was here to help his own cause. He was there to tell the blonde to move on already. He didn't care if the boy were miserable doing so. All that mattered was the fact that he had to stop loving Christine and under no circumstance chase after her.

Erik cleared his throat loudly.

Raoul froze, holding his breath. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard anyone approach. Either that or the ghost had managed to sneak up on him.

Erik could tell that the blonde had held his breath when his chest no longer rose or fell. He arched an eyebrow but quickly hid his reaction as the Vicomte lowered his arm from his eyes to peer at him from beneath long lashes. Erik looked away, banishing that thought by looking to see if anyone else were around. They were alone.

Startled at the sight of the ghost, Raoul scrambled to his feet. He looked between himself and the ghost and couldn't help but blush. He definitely should have changed before going outside. Then again, he hadn't expected to go outside. He'd just wanted breakfast before the ghost had passed him.

Self-consciously patting some grass off his pants, Raoul inclined his head as greeting, "Monsieur Ghost."

Erik kept his voice even. "Vicomte."

Raoul tried to keep himself from sighing. He had known that this day was going to arrive; today was just as good as any other. It must've been what he thought he'd seen in the ghost's eyes earlier. "So, you're leaving?"

Erik looked at him in confusion. The Vicomte wasn't looking at him though; he was looking down at his feet. Erik followed his gaze and looked at the grass that stuck out from between his toes and couldn't help but think how young he looked again. He looked up and saw a blade of grass in his blonde hair; he was forced to stifle the urge to reach out and take it out, all the while wondering why he was so amused by the sight. He had to stifle a grin. The night that Christine had left, the boy had had a branch caught in his hair, too.

"I'm not leaving," Erik stated certainly, and the second those words left his mouth that feeling of warmth that he'd felt when he'd first woken up in the Vicomte's den settled in his chest again. He meant the words, and when the Vicomte looked up with wide blue eyes, Erik didn't bother to look away. He didn't bother to fight against warmth this time, nor did he question it.

"Oh," Raoul replied, confused as to why the ghost had left the house then. He stopped thinking when their eyes met and suddenly, he couldn't breathe again. In mere seconds, his mind flashed to the bottom of the stairs earlier that day, to the den earlier that week, then directly into the bedroom where he'd found himself unaccountably embarrassed. He felt his cheeks redden before he looked away, briefly wondering if he could outrun the ghost.

What was wrong with him? The man had obviously only meant that he wasn't leaving the house yet. It had felt all too much like a confession of some sort, and Raoul was ashamed to admit that his heart might have actually skipped a beat and he might have been more than willing to accept. The ghost couldn't have meant it the way Raoul had accidentally misconstrued that sentence to be. He swallowed through the lump in his throat and waited for the ghost to continue. The man always made him feel the most confusing emotions that he never responded well to.

Erik watched the blonde's reaction. He could see the faint red that coloured his cheeks and the downturned eyes. Immediately, he knew the boy wanted to run, and Erik mentally recoiled. He wasn't here for any other reason than to go one step forward in his plan to get Christine. He shook his head in disbelief with himself. He only momentarily allowed himself to feel bereft when the warmth left him. All that was left was the heat of the sun and the desire to go back inside the house.

"Forget about Christine," he ordered when he finally found his voice again.

Raoul winced at the command, taking a step backwards. He'd been trying to do just that. It wasn't that easy though. His voice was subdued when he answered, "I will."

Erik narrowed his eyes at the boy. This was exactly the attitude that annoyed him. All the boy did was be depressed. Erik would have said all he did was complain, but the blonde kept his misery to himself, kept it within himself. What happened to the person who had fought him in the cemetery? Had he died when Christine left? "I mean it," Erik said, annoyed. The boy wasn't some sort of martyr; he was just stupid, clinging to memories and to something Christine could never be for him. "You aren't what she wants. Aren't what she needs. You aren't strong enough." He began to approach him. The Vicomte wasn't even looking at him. "She's so much better than what you are. You aren't good enough, aren't man enough to keep her with you." Erik wasn't sure who he was angry with now; the words rang too true as he said them. He grabbed the front of the boy's shirt with both hands and yanked him practically off his feet. His face was mere centimeters away as he ground out, "You will never have her."

Erik held him for a few seconds, but the blonde wasn't even fighting back. He wasn't even resisting. The Vicomte's head was turned to the side and his eyes were closed. Erik pushed him away in disgust.

Raoul fell to the floor and just laid there. He knew he could've fought back. Fighting the ghost would probably have felt good too, to relieve some tension. He probably should have simply on principle, but he hadn't seen the point. The man was right. Raoul wasn't good enough. Christine was so much more than he deserved and he should've realized it before all the time that had passed, before he had ruined all their lives. Now, he had to go through all the effort of forgetting about her.

Staring at the blue sky, Raoul simply laid there, hurting. Christine was gone. He scoffed. She had never been with him to begin with. She might have pretended for a bit, might've believed her own lie, but she had never belonged with him. And the ghost. The ghost so obviously hated him, and Raoul didn't even know why that didn't settle well with him. It probably had to do something with the fact that he'd felt happy when he thought the ghost had confessed to him.

Raoul actually truly hated himself at the moment, for the fact that he wanted to be needed, to be loved. It wasn't even just a matter of want though. He needed it. He needed to take care of someone and protect them. He needed to have someone by his side that he could love. Of all the faults to have, he thought that his desire to have some sort of connection with people would have been some sort of blessing. Now, he felt more isolated than ever.

Maybe the ghost _would_ leave finally or maybe he'd finally do what he'd always wanted, kill him. Closing his eyes, he simply waited. It was too much effort to do anything else.

Erik stared at the boy and wanted to yell every profanity he'd ever heard in his life. By now, it was obvious who he was the most angry with, himself. He didn't know what had possessed him to grab the blonde. He'd been furious just seconds ago and now, looking at the boy lying on the grass again, he couldn't help but think he'd just done something completely idiotic. The image was all wrong. The boy wasn't supposed to look that defeated. He wasn't Christine.

"Get up," Erik ordered, softly.

Raoul didn't move, didn't hear the order. His mind was still racing, lost in his own misery.

"Damnit," Erik grabbed his shirt again and yanked him to his feet, "I said get up."

Raoul's eyes flew open at the sudden change of position. The blood rushed to his head and he stumbled on his feet. The ghost had yet to release him though, so he managed to stay upright. On instinct though, he reached up and held onto the hand that was grabbing his shirt as he closed his eyes and tried to reorient himself.

Erik stared at the warm hands that held his own hand and attributed his racing heart to the strenuous act of having lifted the boy to his feet. He didn't let go of his shirt nor did he shrug off the blonde's hands. No, Erik just refocused his attention, almost hoping that the boy wouldn't let go. He couldn't think as clearly as before and now, he didn't exactly know what he was planning. This was not part of the plan, but he did know he wasn't going to complain. Not able to look the Vicomte in the face, he dragged him back towards the house.

Raoul stumbled at the fast pace and awkward position he was forced to walk in because the ghost refused to let go of his shirt. He held onto the man's hand to make sure his shirt didn't break.

"Where," he tried to catch his breath. The ghost was surprisingly fast, "are we going?"

Erik answered easily, "To the room where you're sleeping."

"What?" Raoul finally struggled against him.

Erik stopped, surprisingly pleased with himself that the boy was no longer acting so compliant. Ever since Christine's departure, he'd been acting worse than a fop, and honestly, Erik couldn't think of anything worse than a fop.

Raoul stared between the ghost's face and the hand that was still holding onto his shirt. Removing his own hold on the man, Raoul looked at him expectantly. When the ghost only looked back, he finally said, "I'm not going to run away. You don't have to hold me."

Erik paused at the wording, but did as was suggested. The boy had already stopped holding his hand; so, there really was no more reason to holding onto him.

Raoul tried to calm himself down before starting, "Please tell me what we are doing."

The Vicomte's civility grated against Erik's nerves. He knew the boy wasn't always polite and that such a reaction only meant that he was trying to distance himself from their situation. Erik had insulted him, pushed him to the ground, manhandled him, and dragged him across his own yard. He expected something more than just polite.

He answered him bluntly, "You need to stop loving Christine."

And once again, the Vicomte looked away. Erik was beginning to get annoyed. He couldn't explain why he wanted him to be able to meet his eyes when they spoke of her. Perhaps it was simply an indication that the blonde still in fact loved her.

"We're going to remove everything in your house that reminds you of her," Erik added.

Raoul bit his bottom lip and replied, "I don't think that's going to help."

"Sleeping in her room is what doesn't help," he retorted.

"How did you…?" Raoul started before shrugging his shoulders. Of course the ghost would know. He was always walking around the house; it was inevitable for him to realize where he'd been staying. He realized that the ghost only saw him as weak. That much was obvious. The mere idea of the ghost helping _him _was enough to show how far he had fallen. He was stronger than how he'd been acting lately though. Squaring his shoulders and challenging him with his eyes, Raoul asked, "And you? You're going to help?"

Erik scrutinized him for a moment. He knew this boy, knew him better than he probably would ever want to, but he did. He would follow through with his plan. "I'm not going to leave until I make sure you don't love Christine anymore."

Raoul sighed involuntarily. He quickly covered up his response, saying, "Then, it doesn't look like I have much of a choice."

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 13

Word count: 3,995

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Aw, Raoul needs to get over Christine. He sort of is starting already, but he keeps taking giant leaps backwards. And Erik… well, Erik recognized him by just seeing his foot. :) That's just too good. I can't stay mad at him.


	14. to smile

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Same old format, but once this fic is done, I'll be using the other format for fics. This one wastes too much space, don't you think? Oh yeah, and sorry it's late; I was just being really stupid thinking I had a day off from writing.

Story Note: Progress was bound to occur, albeit slowly.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 14 - … to smile

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

If Raoul had known that allowing the ghost free reign in his home for his supposed help would change their very way of life, he might've asked what exactly the ghost had been thinking, might've taken more than a second thought before deciding to give in so easily. It was too late now. He'd given in, and since he really had no idea himself how he was planning to move on from Christine, the ghost's suggestions – they were actually orders – were the only things that he could do to make him feel like he was at least moving in the right direction.

As he finally finished packing the last of Christine's clothes into a box that the ghost had somehow procured, he looked around the bare room. Her clothes and accessories were gone; the curtains, the beddings, all changed. He'd just barely managed to convince the ghost that they hadn't needed to get rid of the entire bed and miscellaneous furniture; he'd only managed such a feat by threatening that if the ghost _did _do anything, then he could just take the money he'd "earned" from his salary at the opera house to replace them all. That suggestion had been met with a glare and a mumbled retort of "I wouldn't spend a single franc on you." As if Raoul had expected any other response. He scoffed; he was certain that if the ghost had his way, he would just burn the entire room and rebuild it.

Raoul doubted even that would work in keeping him from being reminded of Christine. Although the room was bare, it still reminded him of her. How could it not? She had spent more time in her room than anywhere else in the house, knowing that he would never enter her room uninvited, and since she never invited him, well, he never went in. The fact that it had been his den before her arrival meant nothing. This room was hers, forever engraved in his mind as hers.

However, like the ghost promised, Christine, the physical Christine, was being further removed from his life. Months of her presence was suddenly gone in just a few days. There had been a lot of things, too. Clothes that Raoul had bought her because he thought that maybe he could make her happy, make her feel at home enough so that they could start a new life together. He'd bought her jewelry because he knew how she'd used to look into those stores with such open appreciation. He wasn't sure she'd ever worn them. They were all gone now, packed into neat boxes. It was odd to even think about how quickly and easily she had gone.

He didn't even know if he was really beginning to feel better. He knew that his appetite had returned, but figured it was mostly because of all the heavy lifting that he'd been doing. Besides that, nothing else seemed to really change.

Picking up this last box he'd packed, he brought it downstairs to place in the sitting room with the others. When he arrived in the room, the ghost was standing by the fireplace. Raoul placed the box down, watching the ghost the whole time. It was odd. The ghost never left his side. Ever. He refused to allow him the slightest bit of privacy, but whenever there was a heavy box that needed carrying or any particular strenuous activity, the ghost managed to always conveniently disappear. If Raoul asked for help, the man would downright refuse. So, he didn't bother asking him for help anymore. It was his burden anyway. He would never move on if he allowed other people to do the work for him; at least, that's what the ghost had been saying to him constantly when he suggested the servants could simply do it.

The man's constant presence was becoming slightly annoying though. Raoul didn't even have to wonder where the ghost was nowadays because he was just there, and from the looks of it, just staring at him in disdain. Maybe it was disgust, Raoul couldn't be absolutely certain even though the ghost didn't have a mask on. It was still a little comforting to see the ghost's deformity though. It kept his mind in the present. Had he been forced to look at the porcelain mask every day, then he certainly would have gone mad. He'd only be reminded of their time at the opera house when a happy ending had been in his grasp. Now, the ghost's face only reminded him of their life after, the one that hadn't been perfect, the one that had already been leading to this point.

When it came down to it though, he couldn't help but think of her. His fingers would find a piece of cloth that was smooth; rubbing it between his fingers, he would think of her. Her skin had been smooth. He'd see a color that reminded him of her eyes, her hair, her skin. He'd hear a noise and would still think it was her footsteps walking down the hall. The door would open and he'd think it was her. He didn't know why, but everything reminded him of her.

Everything but the ghost, he thought as he approached said man. As what the ghost was doing came into sight, he rushed forward, staying the man's hand as he held a shawl towards the fire.

"What are you doing?" Raoul grabbed his hand when the ghost looked as though he wasn't going to stop.

The ghost elbowed him away. "What does it look like?" Erik rolled his eyes.

"It looks like you're burning her things," Raoul replied, almost shouting. He grabbed the shawl away from him and looked down at the boxes. The ghost was already halfway through a second box of her things.

"What else are you going to do with them?" Erik shrugged. "Revisit when you're being particularly pathetic?" He mocked.

"No," Raoul said defensively. He definitely hadn't thought of doing so. The main reason he had agreed to put all her things away was so that he wouldn't give into that weakness and return to her room to look through her things. "I was going to send it to Madame Giry."

Erik looked between the box and the fire. "I like my idea better." He grabbed and picked up a lacy chemise and threw it into the fire before Raoul could stop him.

"No," Raoul was just about the reach into the fire when Erik saw that he really didn't care that he was going to get burned. Grabbing him around the waist, Erik lifted him up and pulled him practically across the room. Raoul struggled for only a moment, watching something he had given Christine go up in flames. He'd wanted her to have something to remember him by, and of course, that chemise wasn't the only thing, but still. If he sent her things to Madame Giry then she'd be able to find Christine and then, Christine would have something of her old life. She'd still have a piece of their relationship with her.

Once he placed Raoul down, Erik shook his head in exasperation and asked, "Why do you seek to be nice to her?" When Raoul's attention was still on the fire, Erik forcibly turned his face so that they would have eye contact. "She thinks nothing of you," Erik said, knowing exactly how blunt he was being.

"I," Raoul frowned, but didn't look back towards the fire. He glared at the ghost before walking out of the room. Once out, he covered his face with his hands. The ghost was right. She'd made it rather clear with her departure what she thought about him. She didn't want to remember him, didn't care to.

He didn't need to turn around to know that the ghost was close behind. He'd learned that he _couldn't_ outrun the man.

"You still think of her," Erik stated as an observation though it was accusatory, "Don't think I don't know."

Raoul stopped and for the first time since Christine left, actually felt the need to yell at another person. He turned around, furious. "Of course I think of her. I can't just forget her in a few days. I've been surrounded by her clothes, her smell, her memory."

He expected the ghost to get violent again. It seemed that was the only reaction Raoul could get out of the man, anger and violence. He was ready to fight if the ghost tried to grab him again. Instead, the man asked rather calmly, "What else reminds you of her?"

Raoul paused, thrown off by the change of pace. He was still angry though, and remembering their last argument, said pointedly, "The whole room."

"You'll stay in _your_ own," Erik replied.

Raoul blushed thinking of the ghost's smell. He shook his head. The ghost was currently still in his room. He'd been staying in his den, and while he still couldn't sleep through the night, it was becoming a bit uncomfortable. All he knew was that the ghost hadn't allowed him to sleep anywhere else. If he took his bedroom back, then he wondered where that would place the ghost. "No, I'll stay where I am."

"Yes. You will sleep in your own bed," Erik said with finality, and Raoul knew that he would have no choice in the matter. The ghost was simply too stubborn, and he didn't have the will or energy to fight him about a bed.

Erik continued, "And what else?" When Raoul didn't reply quickly enough, he pressed, "Hurry up. I'll solve all of your problems right now." He believed that the blonde was making things unnecessarily complicated. It shouldn't be that difficult to move on for the boy; he had his whole life ahead of him, and as long as it had nothing to do with Christine, then Erik was willing to push him towards that.

Raoul glared at the man who was taking control of his life. Trying to prove a point, he said, "You," even though it was a lie.

"Me?" Erik could see how that would be true.

"Shouldn't I just get rid of you, too?" Raoul asked with false innocence.

Letting out a short bark of laughter, Erik shook his head, "You wish. So, tell me why I remind you of her?"

Raoul looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean? How could you not?"

"I'm not leaving," he replied.

"How do you," Raoul asked, desperately wanting to know the answer to why the ghost was still here, "even begin to justify that in your mind?"

"I'll remind you of your failure," Erik stated pointedly.

Raoul flinched and looked away. "What?"

"Your failing is an important reminder of why you should move on," Erik stated all too reasonably.

Shutting his eyes, in hopes that he wouldn't feel that particular sting of truth, Raoul didn't argue further. His answer had certainly backfired on him. He didn't need the ghost to further prove how he couldn't win a battle with the man's logic. Defeated, he asked on principle alone, "You really are not going to leave me be?"

Erik replied harshly, "Are you daft or do you intentionally forget the things I tell you?"

Jaw tensing, Raoul wondered why this man managed to bring up emotions he had thought impossible to feel again. He tersely answered, "I guess I would have to say the latter, Monsieur Ghost."

o.o.o

Erik stared at the ceiling, only momentarily closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of the bed. He'd grown quite fond of it in the days that had passed. Rolling over to his side quietly, he looked over the edge of the bed to watch as Raoul slept – and he hated the fact that in his mind, he thought of the blonde as Raoul and not the Vicomte any longer. After spending so much time together, he couldn't help it. They'd spent almost every single moment of the day together. "Vicomte" was simply a title; he was watching the boy not the title.

He'd actually insisted that Raoul take the bed because his general plan had been to accustom the blonde to what life should be like without Christine. It seemed like a simple, yet effective plan, one that required the least amount of effort from him. He only wanted Raoul to never chase after Christine; he didn't need him to be healthy and well-adjusted. Erik could have easily slept on the floor, just to ensure Raoul didn't try to leave in the middle of the night of course. He'd slept in worse places in his lifetime, but the boy had managed to make things difficult again. Whenever Erik had slept on the floor, Raoul would sleep on the floor as well to prove a point. Eventually, they compromised and took turns sleeping on the bed. He'd only agreed to such a compromise because he was not going to let the bed go to waste. He'd almost been annoyed enough to just tell the boy that they would sleep together if that's what it took for him to stay in his own bed, especially when every other word out of the boy's mouth managed to be "Monsieur Ghost."

He knew Raoul was doing it on purpose. The boy may be compliant but he somehow managed to always resist and provoke him in the smallest ways. The constant repetition of Monsieur Ghost actually irked him even more than when he saw the boy think about Christine. That was probably because he didn't think Raoul thought of her on purpose. The blonde was making an effort, but he wasn't doing a good enough job of it. Erik could tell when he thought of Christine. His jaw would tense, his eyes would glaze over if they weren't squeezed shut, and he would be unusually irate for the few minutes that followed.

Those were the moments that Erik rather enjoyed. Raoul was no longer the compliant boy that he'd become since Christine's departure. It was in those moments that Erik saw him rather confrontational and alive. He could see the fight that was still buried somewhere inside him, but was too tired to let out all the time.

Erik frowned, realizing that he almost wanted that Raoul to wake up. He wanted him to stop being so lackluster, so defeated.

That wasn't his ultimate goal though, right? His goal was the make sure he _was_ defeated and stayed that way.

It was all becoming so complicated than what he'd first thought would happen. He didn't know how he'd make the boy forget about Christine completely, wasn't sure he could do it anymore. His initial plan, he'd come to realize, had some major flaws in it. He wasn't willing just yet to give up though. All the effort he placed now would affect what would happen later on when he did finally find Christine; he was convinced of that fact.

So, he kept an eye on Raoul to gauge just how much progress he was making. During breakfast, he watched as the boy ate as though it were a chore – at least he was eating in the first place. That much had changed. Raoul would look up at him and frown at random times. Erik only stared back. He had realized some time after he'd decided to stay at the Chagny estate that he should probably leave to find a mask, but he'd gotten so accustomed without it. Raoul wasn't complaining and Erik wasn't going to be the first to bring it up.

He watched as the boy conducted business because he'd managed to focus enough to stop being truant in his duties. Erik was almost impressed at how efficient and well Raoul could handle his affairs. Almost. He watched as he struggled everyday because not a day had passed yet that Raoul had not thought of Christine.

o.o.o

Raoul watched the ghost because it really was the only thing he could do when they were together most of the time. They were outside, the ghost having decided that they should take a walk around the estate. It had sounded like a good idea even though at the moment, neither of them had said anything for the duration of their walk. He hadn't actually expected that they would talk because what would they talk about, the weather? It was just surprisingly awkward. When the ghost shadowed him throughout the day, they never spoke unless Raoul did something the ghost deemed worthy of criticism. There were actually quite a bit of things that apparently warranted mocking. This though, this seemed too normal for them. The ghost couldn't criticize him on the way he walked and he wasn't willing to try to start up a meaningless or meaningful conversation. So, he just observed the man.

After so much time, Raoul still couldn't figure him out. He understood that the ghost was only helping him in order to help himself. That much was obvious. The ghost hated him; there would be no reason for him to be kind in turn without ulterior motives. He just wondered when the ghost would leave. The longer he stayed at the estate, the more time Christine would have to run even further away from them. It was becoming increasingly difficult to track her with each passing day that the ghost stayed with him instead of going out to find her. It didn't make any sense.

Knowing that, he couldn't help but feel a little grateful. Even though the ghost's presence was distracting and was making him almost desperately want to be alone, the man was actually helping. The knowledge that he was under constant surveillance from the ghost made him conscious of his own thoughts so that he was beginning to become better at censoring Christine from his own thoughts. He actually wasn't certain if it was because of the ghost or if it was simply time, but he knew that she was slowly becoming less important in his mind.

However, whenever he did think of her, it was more intense than he'd want to admit. It was like a wave of sorrow would hit. He'd remember all at once of what she meant to him and what they could have had, what they should have had. It was like a blow to the stomach. It took every ounce of will he had to make sure he didn't just allow that single emotion of despair to linger; every time, he wanted to simply wallow in the pain, to give up the futile struggle of trying to forget the love of his life because that was what she was, wasn't it? He'd loved her as a child and that emotion had persisted. He couldn't imagine _not _loving her. When those thoughts crossed his mind, he'd always get angry with himself because after everything the ghost had done, he still couldn't remember the important fact that Christine didn't love him and that it was pointless to really think about her any longer.

He already knew it for himself. He'd known it when they had been engaged to be engaged. He'd just hoped since that had been the only thing she'd ever really given him, but there was no hope any longer. There was no reason to continue to love her. The fact was that he still couldn't help it.

He bit the inside of his cheek as the pain hit again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to ignore how his chest ached enough to make him want to double over. He stayed upright though. The ghost was watching.

Erik saw Raoul tense and close his eyes. He smirked, ignoring the flare of anger that came with the knowledge that Raoul was still thinking of her. He paused that train of thought, realizing that _he_ hadn't thought of her at all in the past few days. Then again, all he was doing was biding his time. His presence here was all for Christine.

The second after the boy let out of a shuddered breath, Erik was filled with anticipation, almost eager to confront Raoul, just to see him fight back. Grabbing the front of his shirt because he knew that annoyed him to no end, he asked, voice low and dangerous, daring Raoul to fight back, "What did I tell you?"

Still angry with himself for having those residual thoughts, Raoul immediately struggled, knocking the ghost's hand from him. "Release me at once, Monsieur Ghost."

Erik's fingers slipped from the cloth, so he had no other choice but to release him, but he confronted the blonde again, "What did I tell you?"

"I know what you said," Raoul said. Knowing it annoyed the man, he emphasized, "Monsieur Ghost."

Erik glared and ordered, "Then do something about it. Stop thinking of her. She doesn't love you."

"I know!" Raoul yelled and took several steps away. He was calming down already, and with that anger gone, he was left feeling tired again. He braced himself against the nearest tree with his forearm, leaning his forehead against it. "Monsieur Ghost," he said quietly, earnestly, "I'm trying."

Erik frowned, knowing it would be useless trying to goad the boy on now. That had been a rather short burst of energy. In this state, Raoul was not interesting at all. He looked across the estate, looked at the driveway that had led Christine out of their lives. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was still doing here. He'd convinced himself it was all for Christine, but she was only getting further away while Raoul only continued to struggle with himself. He wasn't sure if he was where he was supposed to be.

"Monsieur…" Raoul was about ask if he was still angry. He turned around to see him staring at a distance.

Giving a look of disgust, Erik gave Raoul a sidelong glance. "Erik."

"What?"

"Stop calling me Monsieur Ghost," he answered through clenched teeth.

Raoul's eyes widened a bit before he gave a small almost imperceptible nod. Without even realizing it, his lips slowly curled up to a grin.

Erik saw it, one of the first smiles he'd seen that wasn't tinged with bitterness or self-reproach. He relaxed, nodding to himself. They were making progress.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 14

Word count: 3,726

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Oh, they're now on first name basis! Yay. Finally. Took them long enough.


	15. to laugh

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: I hate weekend writing. There's something about working during a weekend that makes it near impossible to concentrate. Don't you agree? But I muscled through this one and just missed posting on the right day.

Story Note: There's a scene that's missing from this chapter. Like, I had an idea when I was away from both computer and pen/paper, and now that I'm here, I can't remember it. All I know is that it was a really nice E/R interaction scene. T.T Stupid fleeting thoughts.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 15 - … to laugh

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Raoul was getting used to the new schedule they'd fallen into.

They would wake up in the morning, one of them on the bed and one on the floor beside it. Thinking about their sleeping situation, Raoul couldn't help but feel it had been one of his first and only victory with the ghost, because that was the first time Erik had actually listened to him in a direct confrontation. He hadn't been able to save Christine's things as they had mostly been burned. What Erik hadn't burned had been sold and in some cases where Raoul had been able to talk to his attendant secretly, donated, though he was certain Erik had just let him believe he was doing it secretly. The man really had quite an extraordinary ability at being everywhere and hearing, seeing, noticing everything. The bed, though, was definitely a victory.

After sharing breakfast, Raoul would attend to whatever business needed attention. He wasn't sure whether it was in deference to Erik, who still refused to leave him alone for any long duration of time, or because he himself did not wish to venture far from his estate, but he'd managed to conduct all his business from his den through missives. None of his business partners seemed to mind – he was certain that was mostly due to the fact that no one wanted him to be such a public patron any longer after the Opera Populaire fiasco, not that he could blame them.

While he was working, Erik would usually be reading or scribbling away on paper that he'd claimed as his own – Raoul didn't particularly mind that Erik never asked for anything and would simply take it and claim it as his own. It was probably just his situation in life that had brought about such a personality quirk. He could just imagine how a poorly treated deformed child or man would never be able to ask for anything. Erik had probably only received pain and suffering when he asked for things.

The only thing that bothered Raoul was that he didn't know what the man was writing. His curiosity got the better of him, but Erik never shared. He didn't think it was particularly fair when Erik spent several hours a day just looking over his shoulder at what he was working on. The man even criticized his decisions and suggested ideas. It seemed only fair that _he _should be able to see what the other man was doing, too. So far, he hadn't gotten far; he'd actually only gotten several bruises, a sound talking to, and more than his normal share of Erik's criticisms.

They would work until lunch, which they would usually take in the den, simply because Raoul would never be able to finish all his duties in the morning. Ever since he'd become a silent contributor, he'd taken on more responsibilities. He hated to admit that he'd done so mostly because he'd wanted a distraction from Christine's continued presence in his home but absence from _him_. He refused to back out of any of them even though it was only tiring him further and more often than not, he was working by rote. In the end, he knew that he would still need the distraction.

After finishing his work by late afternoon, they would finally leave the den and relax in the sitting room, drinking brandy and reading. It was this time that Erik would begin to show signs of restlessness. Raoul took special note of this. The ghost would walk around the room, never being able to stay seated for a while. It wasn't as though Raoul didn't understand. The man didn't have anything to do. He had nothing to keep him interested and everyone had a limit to how much time they could spend reading and writing, even if Raoul didn't know what he was writing.

It was during these moments that Raoul would suddenly remember that this wasn't permanent. Erik would eventually leave, wanted to, and Raoul didn't know why he was beginning to wish he wouldn't. Was it just because he was afraid of being alone or was it something else? He didn't want to think of the answer to that question. It wouldn't' matter. The ghost was going to leave when he saw fit.

When the time came, they would go to the dining room to eat, neither of them sitting at the head of the table in an unspoken agreement – one that was there simply for the sake of avoiding an unnecessary argument. Instead, they sat across from each other not sharing any more words than was necessary. Raoul found, like the ghost's continued presence, that the silence didn't disturb him very much. It felt almost natural, and he supposed it _was_ natural. After all, they'd been living together, been inseparable for weeks now. It was only natural that it wasn't completely awkward to have periods of silence. They each had enough to think about anyway.

After dinner, they would walk around the estate even when the moon was hidden behind clouds and Raoul would trip over every dirt mound and protruding root. Erik never had any problems, and while Raoul was jealous of such an ability, he didn't bother complaining. He rather appreciated their walks. The night air was cool and the animals were less cheery than those birds during the daytime.

He had a feeling that Erik preferred the darkness anyway. He still saw the man turn away to hide his deformity from the servants when they were in the house. Erik never did so around Raoul, but then again, Raoul figured it was probably part of Erik's plan to remind him of his failure. Those words came to his mind sometimes, and he would always find himself frowning. It was his fault though for saying Erik reminded him of Christine.

After their walk, they would retire for the night, already knowing who would have the bed and who would sleep on the floor.

Raoul imagined this was what life would've been like with Christine. Perhaps not the sleeping arrangement, hopefully, but he had to admit, he stopped dreading the morning. There were times when work seemed interminably long, but slowly, he was becoming accustomed to this life. He could even say that he was almost content with the way things were.

This was what he'd wanted for Christine and himself, a happy content life. He'd wanted a life together that had withstood the test of time and even though excitement wouldn't fill every day, they'd have grown comfortable around each other, in the silence, in the space that existed between them, in the way they moved together. This had been their future. This would have been them.

He sighed. That wasn't true. This was what he had _wanted _life with Christine to be like, but he now knew that it wouldn't have been like this at all.

After learning the ghost's name, Raoul felt as though his eyes had been opened. It felt as though he were seeing the ghost – no, not the ghost, Erik for the very first time, and with that one revelation, it seemed like everything else clicked into place as well.

He could think about Christine, think about them without ignoring their faults. He'd been so blind to her shortcomings. It wasn't that Christine was a bad person. It was just that he hadn't really been seeing her. He hadn't been seeing what she'd been doing to them. She'd used him and prolonged a relationship that she'd known she hadn't wanted.

He wasn't blameless in their relationship either. If only he'd listened to her more. If only he hadn't forced her to do something she hadn't wanted. If only he'd pursued her. He might have seen that she didn't want to get married. He would have seen that her love for him had changed over time, that she'd changed. She wanted something more, something that Raoul would never be able to give her.

She might've loved him at one time, but definitely not in the way that he'd wanted or expected. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered why she'd blamed him for not being able to allow her space to move on. That still didn't make sense to this moment.

While he couldn't hate her for what she'd done, he couldn't quite say he could love her despite those actions. She hadn't been sorry at all with what she'd been putting him through. She never valued his presence, never respected him enough to speak about their relationship as adults should have. Instead, she ran and Raoul hadn't been able to follow her.

He'd reviewed their time together and he discovered that they'd never spent more than a few hours alone together at one time. He couldn't quite believe it at first, but it was the truth. As children, they'd always had her father. In the opera house, she'd always been busy. And in his own home, she'd refused to be in the same room with him at all. From what he could remember, the most he'd ever experienced with her alone had been on the rooftop of the opera house. The meetings after had been stolen moments, nothing longer than a few minutes. His proposal had been interrupted by a servant and after that, there'd been not much of anything else but the planning and the chase.

He could still distinctly remember what loving her had felt like though. He would never deny that he had loved her; he couldn't erase his past like that no matter how much he wanted to sometimes. It _had been_ love. He'd loved the idea of her, the idea of them together in that image he'd constructed, in that fantasy that had no place in reality since it really had been so groundless.

He could imagine what their life would have been like had they actually married.

She would eventually become silent, a mere shadow of who she once was even though he'd tell her to continue singing. She would learn the type of pressure the elite employed, since she would have to socialize with them. Raoul was certain that since she hadn't grown up with that type of coercion that was so normal for him, she would buckle under their scrutiny. He would try to convince her that they were wrong, but the elite had a way of changing minds that was difficult to undo. She would stop singing and would regret every minute of it. He would try to support her, console her, convince her to go back, but she would hold firm in her decision. He would try to shield her from all that, but it would be impossible. Christine would put up a strong façade, but slowly, she would learn to hate him, despise him for the life that she could have had as an opera singer. He wouldn't have been enough for her.

Raoul knew that now, knew it like a sin he was still trying to be absolved of. It stained his soul and remained even as he'd long since performed the act itself. The pain was gone; that stabbing, debilitating pain was gone at least. What had remained was the persistent undercurrent of guilt and an ache in memory of the dream that had died.

It was progress. He knew he was actually doing it – with Erik's help, he was moving on. The problem was that he wasn't the same. He wasn't the same person he'd been when he'd loved Christine or even the person he'd been before he'd arrived at the opera house. When compared to that person, he couldn't help but feel like they hadn't made much progress at all. He could barely imagine a day without feeling exhausted from the effort of living. He'd been so full of energy before, so intent on doing everything himself, on literally grabbing the reins of life of anything.

He was too drained for all of that. He'd become dependent on others' help whether it was his butler or the 'advice' from the ghost. Advice was a very nice word for it; Raoul would consider them more admonitions. The walk around the estate was the most he could do with the amount of energy he had. He barely had enough energy to grab his utensils to eat.

Still, he had to admit that it was a little easier to smile nowadays; he found more reasons to smile actually. He didn't know if there were simply more occasions that arose or if it were his perception that had changed. He didn't even know if he was truly happy. He didn't know if he could be when his whole ambition for the future had been destroyed in one fell swoop.

And that was what life was for him now. He'd feel better some days while on others, he didn't know what to do with himself. It was as though no matter how much progress he was making, it was never going to be enough until he found something else to hope for. He just couldn't imagine wanting another dream. It hurt too much to lose them.

o.o.o

Erik felt smug, hadn't been able to feel like this in a while. It was more than just the kind of smug he'd felt at seeing Christine and Raoul at odds with each other when he'd first arrived. This was the intense satisfaction of knowing a plan was going to succeed. It was like watching a masterpiece in the process of being completed, progressing further and further towards the final product.

Even if it was just his project on the Vicomte, any step towards success was making him rather pleased. Raoul had stopped having those moments where he'd look to be in pain at the memory of Christine's absence.

He knew that the boy hadn't stopped thinking about her. The signs that said he was were simply different now. It wasn't a tensing of muscles and the irritation afterwards. When Raoul thought of her, it started with a sigh, progressed to the slumping of his shoulders, and ended with a wounded look on his face.

That last expression always made Erik want to gag. Raoul's lips would press together a little tighter, almost a pout, but not quite. His eyes would be open wide and his blue eyes would beg that someone take his pain away. Erik always looked away for that last part. Besides the nausea, that look somehow managed to make _him _feel badly as well. He didn't know how Raoul managed to do that.

Erik had learned rather quickly that confronting the blonde post thoughts of Christine was not as fun as it had been previously. Raoul wouldn't fight back. In fact, he'd only hang limply in Erik's grasp with his head down. Erik knew the blonde was taking everything he was yelling to heart and then, the boy would apologize. Erik couldn't stand that apology. It was pathetic. It was an indication that Christine still held some sway over him.

Those moments when Raoul still thought about Christine occurred more than Erik would've liked, but Raoul had at least stopped moping as much. He also stopped trying to hide from him, but Erik knew that was because he hadn't given him any choice in the matter.

Overall, even though the plan was taking longer than he'd expected, it was still on track. He was closer to his goal.

A part of him was a bit disappointed though. This wasn't the Raoul he knew. This was a Raoul who had been tainted with the experience of having been completely devastated by the love of his life. Erik, unfortunately, was familiar with that experience. This Raoul simply wasn't putting up much of a fight at all. He would listen to Erik so trustingly that Erik was tempted to lead him astray. He didn't though, only because it would harm his plan if he did.

Every morning, he watched Raoul closely at breakfast to see how much he ate. It was the main indicator of how well the blonde was doing. Some days were better than others.

Today, Raoul seemed to be having a particularly good day. He was a bit clumsy, but something was definitely different about him. Erik was suspicious. He tried to remember what had happened the day before, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Breakfast had been a quiet. In the morning, he'd finally finished that sketch of the Chagny estate and the plans for a better stable than they currently had. Then, there'd been lunch, and he'd rechecked some of the papers Raoul had gone through.

The blonde was good enough, but sometimes he missed opportunities to improve his business ventures. Erik didn't know how some of those businesses succeeded with such incompetence from their actual owners. With Raoul's money and Erik's guidance, he was certain they could be vastly improved.

Then, they'd spent some time in the sitting room. Erik always wished for his organ at that time. Late afternoon was the perfect time to play music; as the sun began to set, it would remind him of his home beneath the opera house. The reds and oranges the sun cast into the room reminded him so much of the candlelight he'd been forced to work by before. While he could continue to read or draw, his fingers simply itched to play. He'd gone so long without music and even though his head was filled with so many songs and melodies nowadays, he didn't like composing without hearing it aloud. He liked to have the music thrum through him.

Yesterday, while he paced around the room, he'd mentally finished drafting the extension for the house that would hold an organ just for him. He doubted Raoul would stop him if he wanted it enough and he didn't just want it; he needed it.

Luckily dinner had arrived and had been enough of a distraction to banish those unnecessary thoughts from his mind. The walk after had helped as well. Those evening walks were completely new for him. While it reminded him of the tunnels of the opera house, the coolness of fresh outside air was something absolutely new to him. He didn't even remember how they'd started that part of their ritual. It had simply been there. He also appreciated it for the fact that Raoul had horrible night vision. It was constant amusement for him to watch the blonde trip over, what was for him, obvious discrepancies in the grass. They spent hours in the darkness of the Chagny estate walking first through the lawns, where Raoul would trip on the uneven grass, to the woods, where Raoul would trip on roots and shrubs. Still, the blonde never complained. He rather took everything in stride, frowning for a moment at the offending piece of earth before the now common neutral expression took over.

No, nothing had happened yesterday. He didn't know why Raoul would be acting oddly now.

Raoul had a secret, an actual secret from Erik. It was one of those unexpected occurrences that made him smile, and he knew he was doing a horrible job at keeping it from Erik. He just couldn't help it. He'd woken that morning on his bed that smelled of both him and Erik and he'd had an epiphany. Then during breakfast, he 'accidentally' dropped his utensil and went into the kitchen to get a replacement. As he'd expected, Erik hadn't followed him, hadn't even appeared suspicious when he'd returned not too long after with a new fork.

It hadn't taken long to put his plan into action. And now, he had a secret. He called it victory number two in his head.

Erik watched Raoul closely. He was acting odd and it took him a moment to realize why. The blonde seemed excited. He was hiding something, but that was impossible. Erik was constantly with him. What could he possibly hide? He wondered if maybe this was simply the next stage in how Raoul was coping with Christine's absence. It seemed too abrupt a change though. Yesterday had been normal. This new development was simply too drastic and made him uneasy.

Maybe the blonde had finally reached the conclusion that if he pretended to be happy then Erik would finally leave him alone. Erik didn't think he would be able to have such foresight. He didn't think the boy could _lie_ to him that effectively in order to try to fool him to such an extent. So, he watched Raoul as they worked and ate lunch. Raoul was hiding something, but he wasn't acting.

Erik didn't know why he was worried that Raoul had actually gotten better in a single day. It was unlikely, but if it were true, then he should be overjoyed that he could finally leave.

His mind raced as he sat in his chair, hand gripping the book he'd grabbed off the shelf without looking. He should be watching Raoul as he worked, maybe go through some of the paperwork, but he could only think that he might have already succeeded in his plan.

Now, he was at a loss for what to do next. He had to chase after Christine, right? This was the moment that he'd been waiting for. He needed to pack all of the clothes he'd accumulated thanks to Raoul's funds. He'd have to figure out where to start to look for her. She could be anywhere right now, out of the city, out of the country. He could pay for some investigators. He could track Madame Giry. Christine would have left word with her. She would have had to. That was the only family she had left, and Christine was always concerned about family. She wouldn't have disappeared completely.

And Raoul. Raoul would be happy in this house, sleeping in the bed that Erik adored for its texture, its softness, its smell. Raoul would go on doing business averagely and morosely spending his afternoons sitting by the fireplace with a snifter in hand, reading a book. He'd take his walks through the estate and do an even worse job staying on his feet because Erik wasn't there to lead him through the areas with the least amount of obstacles on the ground.

Erik shook his head, eyes barely focusing on the page he'd opened the book to. He didn't believe it. He didn't believe that Raoul stopped loving her already. He wouldn't believe it until he saw some concrete proof. Until that moment actually occurred, he still had time to prepare himself to find Christine.

Raoul placed his pen down with a sigh. He expected Erik to look at him, but the other man was simply staring at his book. He narrowed his eyes at his inattentiveness. Erik was never inattentive; Raoul almost feared that he'd already been found out. It didn't seem like it though. Tilting his head to the side, Raoul tried to see what book he was reading but was unable to see it.

Instead, he tried to obtain Erik's attention again. Standing up, he pushed his chair back, making sure it scraped the floor before stretching rather loudly.

Erik looked up at the sound. He stared at Raoul suspiciously before asking, "Done already?" He knew Raoul couldn't have finished already. There were too many papers on his desk.

Raoul looked down at all the work he had yet to complete. He wasn't anywhere near done yet, but they were things he could simply finish tomorrow. He shrugged and inclined his head towards the book still in Erik's hand. "How far did you get in the book?"

Erik glanced at the book. He had forgotten he was even holding it. He'd just needed a distraction, or at least to look like he was doing something other than thinking. He snapped the book shut.

Not minding that his question was left unanswered, Raoul suggested, "Let's go for a walk. I don't feel like working right now."

If Raoul were trying to prove a point about being better already, Erik was not convinced. Just because this behavior was different than their normal schedule didn't mean anything.

He looked closely at the blonde's expression. He wasn't smiling. His expression was serious, but there was that hint of something more. Erik couldn't describe it. Maybe Raoul didn't look as impassive as he usually did or act as indifferent either. Erik could tell that he really wanted to go for that walk right now.

Playing along for now, Erik stood up and placed his book on the seat. He headed out first. Raoul followed closely, but paused to look at the title of the book that Erik had been reading. _L'homme Qui Rit_. Raoul frowned. He hadn't read that book in a while, but from what he recalled, he didn't understand why Erik had been so engrossed. Deciding he could think about it later, Raoul pushed it to the back of his mind. There were more important things to think about right now, like his secret.

All he had to do now was keep Erik busy until dinner. That shouldn't be too difficult. He decided the best way would be to enjoy the prolonged victory with a walk around the estate. It was afternoon, but luckily for them, the sky had clouds. Well, it was lucky for Erik. Raoul knew how much the man disliked the sun.

Keeping his composure, Raoul tried to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary. He kept their pace slow, allowed himself to notice the things he'd failed to notice and appreciate for so long now.

This secret was making everything look brighter, or maybe it was the fact that he could actually see where he was going now. The fact that he wasn't tripping was an added bonus. They went towards the back of the estate first and Raoul suddenly realized this was where he'd run from Christine. This was where he'd screamed his pain knowing that everything had ended between them. He'd thought Erik had left with her; it would have made sense.

It was odd now to think about how the _phantom_ was now walking with him here. He couldn't help but wonder why the ghost wasn't leaving just yet. He knew the reasons that were on the surface. He could even see why Erik was trying to make him forget about Christine. He didn't want a repeat of what had already happened.

Raoul glanced at Erik.

Erik wouldn't have that problem. There was no way that Raoul was going to make the same mistake twice. He just wondered if the ghost were making a mistake too, by chasing after her. It wasn't any of his business though. He didn't have a say in such things. He could only wait for the day when Erik would leave. Just like Christine had.

Erik almost shouted out in victory. Instead, he managed to simply smirk. "You thought of her," he pointed out.

Nodding, Raoul didn't bother trying to lie about it. He averted his eyes, however, in hopes that Erik couldn't tell that he'd been thinking of him as well. Nowadays, every thought of Christine seemed to have a corresponding thought of Erik attached to it. It was a bit confusing.

He answered wryly, "It happens sometimes."

"Too many times," Erik replied even though they'd walked so far without Raoul having thought about Christine that Erik almost thought that he _really _had gotten over her.

Raoul didn't have a response to that. He did think about her too much, but then again, he thought that once a day was too much. Erik probably had the same definition as him anyway.

They continued through the woods and exited towards the stable. Raoul had calmed considerably, but the thought of his surprise was too good to contain. The silence made him want to blurt out his secret, especially when Erik would look at him so suspiciously. He found himself talking about his childhood just to ignore that urge. He didn't care that Erik probably didn't care about his affinity for horses or how'd he wanted to become a pirate as a child. He avoided the topic of Christine even as he spoke about all the time he'd spent at the beach just looking out into the ocean, swimming out as far as he dared just to look for ships.

He was probably giving Erik more opportunity to mock him later on, but for now, he was simply silent. Raoul glanced every now and then. Erik's eyes were usually drawn towards some tree or just a distance away. He didn't look interested at all, but it passed the time faster than silence.

When dinner finally came, Raoul had long since run out of acceptable childhood stories and was talking about new business ventures in other cities as well as Paris. He wondered if he should stop speaking once the food arrived since it was custom that they eat in relative silence. However, Erik didn't seem perturbed by the noise and Raoul realized how much he missed talking to someone. The silence wasn't horrible, but this was nice, too.

Once they'd finished dinner and the butler subtly nodded his head towards him, Raoul proclaimed, "I'm exhausted. I need to tell you something, but perhaps somewhere with a little more privacy? The den perhaps?"

In response, Erik glared at him, and Raoul was taken aback for a moment. Maybe he'd been speaking entirely too much.

Erik was annoyed. The blonde had spent the whole afternoon talking. He'd listened to every word and noted every smile. Raoul had seemed almost normal. Perhaps he wasn't as animated at he'd once been, as Erik had once seen him be with Christine, but this was shockingly close. An uneasiness had started when Raoul had first begun to speak and it was so bad now that Erik barely touched his dinner.

He had his proof didn't he? A whole afternoon and Raoul had only thought of Christine once.

Now this. Raoul was going to tell him that he should leave, that he'd accomplished his goal.

Nodding abruptly, Erik stood up stiffly and followed Raoul up the stairs. The blonde was looking at him oddly. Erik could understand his confusion; after all, he was a little confused about his reaction as well.

Biting his bottom lip, Raoul was beginning to wonder if victory number two was such a good idea. Erik looked really angry. It was a really good surprise though, so he focused on getting to the door. Reaching the den, he entered quickly and turned around to see Erik's expression.

Erik walked into the room and stopped short. His head tilted to one side, eyes narrowed in confusion. His mouth hung open as his mind was trying to catch up to the sight that he saw.

The den was not a study any longer. The shelves, seats, and desks were gone. Replacing it was a large four post bed, a dresser, a side table and seat.

He was snapped out of his surprise when he heard Raoul laugh. His attention drawn from the bedroom to Raoul, and he still didn't know how to react. He didn't know why his mind was having a hard time comprehending what he saw and now what he heard. Raoul looked absolutely delighted. Golden hair covered part of his face as he leaned forward, laughing really hard. It wasn't malicious laughter and Erik wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but he found himself smiling in response.

This was Raoul's secret. This was why the blonde had been excited and why he'd wanted to speak with him. This was why he'd temporarily forgotten about Christine.

When Raoul had first seen Erik's expression, he couldn't help but smile. He'd wanted to raise his arms in victory because he'd managed to keep the secret the entire afternoon, but when Erik continued to stare in absolute confusion, Raoul found himself laughing. He didn't know where it came from. He was surprised at first; he hadn't laughed in so long that it felt good. It felt freeing.

This was _the _opera ghost, staring open-mouthed at a surprise, one that Raoul had planned. He was extremely pleased with himself, especially as he was forced to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes. He'd managed to surprise a ghost. The idea was both absurd and amusing.

When he finally stopped laughing, he realized that Erik was staring at him now. He couldn't quite tell if he should run or tell the ghost he was sorry, but he held up his hands in a sign of surrender.

"So we won't need to sleep on the floor anymore?" Raoul said slowly and moved to place his hand on one of the posts.

Erik made sure he was frowning as he approached the bed. He needed to do something to Raoul for the anxiety he'd caused him, but his usual response of a Punjabbing definitely was not an option. He didn't need to kill the blonde, just teach him a lesson.

Grabbing one of Raoul's wrists tightly, Erik whispered low, "Don't ever do that again."

Raoul nodded and realized he wasn't scared. He'd been worried about Erik's reaction, but if that was all Erik was going to do, then he would risk the comment that had immediately come to mind. "I hope you like this bed. It's not as good as mine."

Erik tossed him towards the bed. Tripping over his own feet, Raoul hit the bed and rolled off onto the other side. He hit the floor with a thud. Through the sound of his heart pounding loudly, Raoul heard Erik say with a scoff.

"This room is yours."

Seconds later Raoul was laughing again. He stared at the ceiling of his new room, thinking to himself.

It was so worth it. Victory number two.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 15

Word count: 5,670

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Okay, that was obscenely long and it's past 1AM. I'm posting and going to sleep. That last part might be a bit iffy since I didn't edit it. I'm sleepy though and that part made me laugh. Oh, L'homme qui rit=The man who laughs by Victor Hugo.


	16. to allow

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: I'm sorry this is late. I'm trying to find out whether I'm narcoleptic or not (I'm not. I'm just tired and lazy on the weekends, when I can, RW is going to move to Wednesdays so I don't have to work on weekends).

Story Note: This actually had to get separated into two chapters. Because this by itself is enough. The fated day. T.T Oh, btw, I have no idea what the time frame is right now, but it's warm weather now. (that's probably off, they should be in winter still, right? Not for me though.)

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 16 - … to allow

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

Erik turned the page of the book he'd picked up so long ago when he'd thought that he was going to leave the estate and not by his own decision. Even to this moment, weeks later, he had only read the title and author. It was rather impossible to read when his mind was filled with so many thoughts, but when he tried to think without using some sort of distraction in place, Raoul would watch him. The Vicomte wouldn't say anything. No, that would simply be too forward of the boy, and for some reason, as much as Raoul was starting to return to his old self, this was one aspect that hadn't changed. Erik wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or not.

When Raoul worked, Erik was often working himself, unable to keep the ideas at bay. They needed to be written down; so, painting, building, and song were jotted down. The new den was beginning to be filled with his works. He wasn't even sure what he was going to do with them, but it hardly mattered. What mattered was that it was being written before the sudden onslaught of creativity drove him insane. He didn't think it had ever been this bad before, but figured it was probably due to the fact that he didn't have an organ to focus most of his energies on.

He knew Raoul looked through his works sometimes. It wasn't as though the boy was being subtle. In the afternoon, when Raoul had reached his limits of working, he'd meander around the room while Erik tried to finish his own work. He noticed how the boy gave each sheet of paper equal amount of attention whether it was a composition or a meager sketch that was never meant to be completed. At those times, he was more focused than Erik ever seen him even compared to when he was working. It was a bit unexpected.

He could tell when Raoul understood what he was seeing and whether or not he liked it simply by his expressions. If he were honest, he didn't get much work done during those moments, just for the sake of watching him.

Looking past Raoul, who sat on a rather high branch above him to his left, he looked through the branches that intertwined above them, providing some shade and cooler temperature from the heat. He cleared his mind for a second just to enjoy the sun. It seemed like he was beginning to like it more and more nowadays. He'd definitely never thought that he'd be sitting outside, leaning against a tree in the middle of the day reading a book. Well, he wasn't actually reading but still. It seemed too normal, too calm.

He was brought out of his musings when Raoul was slightly off tune hitting a note in his humming.

"Be quiet," Erik said automatically.

Raoul had taken to humming when he wasn't singing and they weren't speaking, and since Erik had told him he was not allowed to speak at all when he was trying to read, the blonde had begun to hum. Erik had learned to mostly tune out the sound. He had problems when he heard a mistake, but surprisingly, the blonde rarely was off tune. He had a sneaking suspicion that the times he was had been on purpose, though he could never prove it.

"I don't have anything else to do but hum," Raoul stated, resigned to the fact that he couldn't sing or even talk.

"Still."

Raoul complained half-heartedly, "You're not fun at all."

"I'm not here for your amusement."

Raoul hmph'd but didn't really take him seriously. Erik had been humouring him the past week when he'd come to the realization that he couldn't spend all his time just working. Unlike before, he became restless when he was inside the house for too long, working on those businesses that really just wanted his money. He wanted to be outside, seeing something other than expenses, doing something.

Looking at the apple on his lap, he smirked. He glanced down to look at Erik reading. He should have brought his own book but he hadn't been interested. It was simply too beautiful a day to pass up. So, he'd simply brought a snack and expected Erik to humour him once more. Instead, the man decided to bring a book and generally ignore him. It wasn't very nice. Grinning, he held out the apple and aimed.

"Apple," he warned.

Erik simply held his hand out, eyes still focused on the book in his hand.

Raoul dropped the apple and watched with delight as it landed directly on Erik's lap. Erik jerked forward as it landed dangerously close to his groin. He glared at the blonde. "You have horrible aim."

"Who says I was aiming for your hand?" Raoul barely contained his laughter.

Erik rolled his eyes. "Don't make me pull you off that branch so that you can break your pretty little neck."

Raoul laughed and resumed his humming. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the trunk of the tree.

Summer was fast in coming and it was only in the small woods on the estate that they could escape the heat. So, they spent their days there, giving most of the servants the day off when they could. They spent their afternoons walking, horseback riding, fencing, and when Erik refused to directly amuse him and he couldn't work any longer, they ended up like this.

Even though Erik was just reading, Raoul couldn't help but enjoy the fact that he was always there with him. In fact, Raoul was almost certain that they weren't even intentionally doing it anymore. It was simply natural now to be in the same room together, to sleep, to eat, to drink at the same time and usually in the same room. Except for the sleep part of course.

Raoul had been 'given' the new bed – he'd been forced to sleep there. Of course, he'd tried to annoy Erik enough after that first night to switch because for some reason, he hadn't been able to sleep that well. It took about three days, but Erik finally did give in to his request. And even though they were in different rooms, Erik had forbidden they close the door. Raoul hadn't really minded. An open door compared to sleeping in the same room for several days was actually quite a distance apart.

He was waiting though for the time when Erik would leave. He'd stopped really thinking of Christine, or at least, when he did think of her, it wasn't filled with the bitterness and pain from before. She was just there, a bad memory among others. She might take precedence, but he could move on. That was what he focused on. He focused on the fact that he was happy without her there, that he _could _be happy and might be happier without her. It had come as a revelation, but he was rather proud of himself with the progress he'd made even though he was a little worried that it was a false happiness. He might've just found someone else to occupy his mind. He couldn't help but worry that he'd simply attached himself to the next convenient person and that once Erik left, he'd once again become depressed.

He sighed, letting those worries go for a moment. He really had no control over such a decision. He'd known all along that Erik was eventually going to leave for Christine. No amount of hoping would do anything to stop that. He told himself that if he really needed to, he'd find someone else. He could find another eligible woman out there who he'd be able to stand. He could probably attach himself to another person rather easily, now that he'd had practice, now that he'd seen that life could get better.

Erik took a moment when Raoul was distracted to really look at him. This was what he'd seen those weeks ago. He'd seen this Raoul, blonde hair free, eyes closed, head tilted back to take in the sun that managed to shine through the canopy. One bare foot was dangling, while the other one steadied him on the branch. He was wearing a loose white shirt and riding pants, clothes that were actually similar to his own at the moment.

Raoul looked better. He smiled and laughed more. He talked and sang.

It was time to leave.

He knew it and was reluctant to act on that knowledge. Well, not really reluctant, he always found reasons to stay. He didn't think that Raoul still loved Christine. There was, of course, no way to know for certain unless he asked the boy himself, which was the one thing he hadn't and probably wouldn't do. In fact, Erik hadn't brought Christine up in a while. To his dismay, these past few days had gone without him even remembering why he was still on the Chagny estate. He'd simply gone through the day as though it were normal to live with Raoul. It shouldn't be this natural, and he had to remind himself of that fact.

He wasn't here to stay, even though it seemed like Raoul wanted him there. He'd never been wanted anywhere, so he was certain it was simply his imagination. The bed made him think otherwise; the boy had even had another desk set up in his den after the move. He'd bought extra paper and even paints. The only thing he hadn't done was get him an organ. Of course, Erik didn't want or need an organ at the Chagny estate. He'd just been distracted, distracted by the kind of life he might have been able to have without his deformity – he ignored the fact that he had the deformity now and was living as such.

Raoul couldn't be all that better though. Sometimes, when he thought Erik wasn't looking, something close to despair would cross his features. Those familiar blue eyes would look unseeing into some distance; his brows furrowed slightly, lips pressed together. Erik saw it and knew he couldn't leave just yet. All it took was one strong emotion after all, and the blonde would probably chase after them without a second thought.

But he hadn't seen that look in a while. Either Raoul was becoming better at hiding it or he was really fine. Whichever one it was, he'd still have to prepare. He'd made up his mind. It didn't matter what expression Raoul showed today because he was going to go back to his own home, and that thought was a little odd now. In his mind, home wasn't the opera house any more. That home had been destroyed by the mob. That home had been burned down. His home now was in the room that was once the boy's. He shook his head. This wasn't the time to lose focus. He needed to go down to his home, find a mask and suitable travelling clothes. Though, he wouldn't have to worry about the clothes. He'd accumulated more than enough here. So, all he really had to retrieve was a mask so that he could travel and then he'd return to the Chagny estate to pack his clothes before looking for Christine.

It would be the first time he'd gone off the estate in weeks. He amended that thought in disbelief, more than a month. It had been a month maybe two now since Christine left. He didn't even know where all that time had gone. He didn't know how he could have possibly been so engaged in his efforts with Raoul that he'd actually let so much time pass. In his defense, he'd been unconscious then bedridden the first week on the Chagny estate. Then, there'd been that annoying period where Raoul had simply been depressed. Then, Erik paused, trying to remember. Raoul had steadily improved after they'd gotten rid of everything of Christine's. He should've been preparing to leave at least a few weeks ago. He couldn't actually remember why he hadn't. He couldn't remember even wanting to.

Just a bout of inattentiveness in his part. He'd have to tell Raoul that he'd be leaving, considering the fact that the blonde would easily know if he suddenly disappeared. They did spend every moment of their day together, and Raoul slept lightly. He'd been sleeping more, but at certain sounds he'd awake. One of those sounds was Erik himself. It seemed that Raoul had managed to attune his hearing to him. It was annoying at best.

Deciding that he'd leave in the middle of the night so that no one would be able to spot him, he knew that meant he'd have to tell Raoul at dinner or before they retired for the night. Now if only he knew why he was dreading doing so.

"Erik."

He was startled for a moment. Raoul stood up on the branch, shifting the shadows, and a glare from the sun caught his eye. He looked up just in time to see Raoul lose his footing on the branch and fall. Erik quickly stood up, but Raoul landed on his stomach on the branch before sliding off. He held on before completely falling off. Wincing, Raoul looked down towards the floor. Erik was looking at him disapprovingly.

"What did I tell you about standing up?" Erik rolled his eyes to hide the rapid beating of his heart. He was about to pull the boy down himself for scaring him like that.

Raoul frowned. "I was trying to get down."

"That's what I told you. You don't need to stand up to get down."

The distance to the floor wasn't too far any. Releasing his hold, Raoul ended up in a crouched position from the impact. He sat down the small distance left and rubbed his stomach. "Ow."

Erik shook his head. He had stood up on instinct alone, but he wasn't sure if it was to catch Raoul or dodge him in case he fell. So far, the boy had been lucky. He'd always managed to catch himself; he wasn't actually sure if that was luck because Raoul always hit the branch in one way or another on his way day. It always slowed his descent sufficiently so that he didn't injure himself too badly.

He crouched in front of Raoul and swatted his hands away. "Let me see."

Raoul only held onto his stomach tighter. "No."

"No?" Erik said. Raoul never said no to him. In fact, now that he thought about it, Raoul had been rather complacent the whole time he'd stayed, letting Erik do whatever he wanted. However, "no" was not an answer Erik would accept at the moment. He grabbed Raoul's shirt and lifted it up even as he tried to keep it down.

"Your hands are always cold," Raoul complained. After a brief struggle, Raoul simply sighed and let Erik look at his stomach. There was a bruise already there from yesterday when he'd fallen off the branch. He had a feeling today's would add another bruise.

"I don't know how you keep doing that. Is it so hard to climb down a tree without falling out of it?"

"I'm cursed."

Erik retorted, "You need to stop climbing trees."

"Is it my fault that's the only thing to do when you're reading?" Raoul asked and hissed as Erik probed the bruise intentionally hard.

"You're blaming this on me?" Erik scoffed. Shaking his head, he let out a sigh at Raoul's dejected expression. He stood up and began to walk towards the back of the house, knowing that Raoul would follow.

After a moment of silence, a moment longer than Erik expected, Raoul asked, "The stable?"

Erik nodded. He wanted to check the horses. There was one he had in mind to use, but it wasn't as though the horse was his. It was only his when he and Raoul rode together. Who knew if Raoul would let him take it? Erik shook his head. It didn't matter what Raoul would allow. He would simply take it. In fact, he knew he shouldn't even bother telling Raoul that he was leaving in the first place, but for some reason, he had to explain that he was going to return.

o.o.o

Dinner had long since passed, and he and Raoul were just returning from their evening walk when Erik was finally able to broach the subject.

"I'm going back to the opera house." It was abrupt, but there had been nothing else to really say. That was the fact and the only way that Erik believed it could be said.

Raoul stopped suddenly, only a few feet from the stairs. Erik, who was in front of him, stopped as well. He turned and suddenly had a déjà vu of his meeting with Christine. However, the blonde gave no shocked gasp. He didn't ask anything. He only looked pained for a moment before nodding to himself.

Raoul couldn't believe it was so soon. Then again, it had lasted longer than he'd expected. A part of him had hoped that maybe Erik wouldn't leave, that maybe he wouldn't go after Christine. Who was he kidding though? Everything Erik had ever done was for Christine.

"Raoul?" Erik asked. There was no doubt that he had heard him.

The blonde didn't respond, simply continued walking up the stairs, past Erik. Erik followed but didn't say anything until they were in their room. Raoul headed directly for the adjoining room even though Erik was certain it was his turn in the new room. The silence and the fact that Raoul was outright ignoring him made him suddenly angry. He was not someone to be ignored. Entering the room, he saw Raoul changing his clothes for the night. He didn't bother to hide his nakedness.

Erik glared at him.

"Raoul…" He started before Raoul said at the same time, "Okay." He punctuated the statement with a lazy shrug of his shoulders.

"Okay?" Erik repeated.

Raoul looked him in the eyes evenly. "I don't know where I'd start looking for Christine, but I assume Madame Giry would know."

Not quite knowing why, Raoul's attitude made Erik angrier than he'd been in a while. Angry like the time Christine had ripped off his mask, like the first time Raoul had acknowledged Christine's existence, angry like the hatred he felt for the gypsy who'd beat him. Logically, he knew that was an unreasonable reaction. The blonde was simply accepting the fact that he was going to leave, and he was even trying to help him in his efforts to find Christine without so much as a question or effort to stop him. Not that he could be stopped.

He'd been doing rather well with keeping his temper in check; actually, it wasn't even about his temper. He simply hadn't wanted to hurt anyone in a while. Raoul's indifference erased all the composure he'd gained through the weeks, and it didn't even matter he couldn't exactly explain why he was angry. The only thing that mattered was that he was angry and that it felt good. It felt like he was actually himself again, not that person who liked to sit in the sun, not the one who relaxed when he saw Raoul safely on the ground again, definitely not the one who spent days with the Vicomte without a second thought to Christine. He'd been blinded by this lie, by this charade of an existence in a life that was so obviously not his own.

Things were clearer now thanks to the anger. So before he lost it, he grabbed Raoul's arm, twisting it behind his back and pressed him onto the bed using his weight to lean completely on him, pleased when the blonde let out a yelp of pain.

Raoul struggled for a moment in surprise, but once pinned on the bed, he didn't react. They were both breathing hard though. Burying his face into the bed covers, Raoul hid his face. He'd known this day was going to come, he really had, when Erik finally stopped being nice to him. It wasn't completely unanticipated; he simply hadn't thought it would happen like this.

He just wished he hadn't changed into his nightshirt because he could feel Erik plainly through his clothes. The heat and pressure was stifling. He could barely breathe.

"I'm returning tomorrow to get a horse and then I'll be gone," Erik whispered harshly.

Raoul nodded when he applied more pressure to his arm. He hadn't realized he'd been expected to reply. He thought that Erik was simply informing him.

"Don't follow."

Raoul nodded again and then Erik was suddenly gone, his back cooling from his departure. The other man had retreated to his room. Staying face down halfway on the bed, he dragged his arm forward to a more comfortable position. He didn't feel like moving, didn't think he could do so.

He was going to be alone again in this house. The familiar feeling of exhaustion was returning. His body felt heavy even though Erik's weight was no longer on him. His mind felt slow, too slow to really comprehend everything that was happening. So he stayed like that, waiting for his breathing to even out and the will to move to return to him.

When he found enough energy to pull himself onto the bed completely, he noted that the door between their rooms still remained open.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 16

Word count: 3,595

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: So, OOC Erik in the beginning with his niceness and calm behaviour. But wow, is Erik back to his old self? He'd been doing so well. Maybe Raoul shouldn't have been so indifferent to the news that he was leaving. Maybe their good-bye could've been something better.


	17. to despise

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: So, this is the only fic I'm working on now and it's kind of odd actually. I finally have down time. However, if you've been following the calendar, you'd realize that this is the last chapter before my vacation. :D So, this'll have to last you a couple of weeks.

Story Note: I am /so/ mean to Raoul here that I feel bad about myself. T.T

Check the calendar for (supposed) fic posting dates, link in my profile.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 17 - … to despise

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

o.o.o

"Don't follow," Erik ground out, placing his weight completely on Raoul for a second, waiting to see if he would react. However, the body beneath him had already stopped struggling. With no small amount of disappointment, Erik released him, retreating to his bedroom.

Crossing the threshold, he'd almost wanted to slam the door shut; he had a feeling it would've felt very satisfying to do so. However, he couldn't bring himself to do it. That door had never been closed since the day Raoul had surprised him with the transformed den. For some reason, that meant something to him even if he refused to acknowledge it.

After that last command had left his mouth, he'd stopped feeling so angry with the blonde and instead became angry with himself. He'd lost his temper, and he was actually rather surprised that Raoul had come out of that disagreement relatively unharmed. The violence, the urge to hurt for transgressions was there, right below the surface of calm. He hadn't even realized that it had been there. He'd… he scoffed, he'd actually thought that along with Raoul, he'd somehow changed as well. That was all an illusion; he'd proven that already.

He didn't, rather couldn't regret attacking Raoul. That moment had helped to clear his mind. It helped remind him who he really was and what he had to do. He had to leave Raoul, and what better way than to leave the Vicomte defeated?

It was the perfect justification, and yet, he was still frustrated. He didn't understand his own reactions and couldn't stop his actions. He'd begun pacing, not in order to release some of the excess energy of such a strong emotion, but so that he'd have a reason to pass the door and not seem so obvious that he was constantly looking in on the blonde.

Raoul had dragged himself fully onto the bed, and that was the best way that Erik could describe it, dragged – all that energy he'd seen in the past few weeks had simply disappeared with one confrontation. It wasn't promising. From his vantage point, he couldn't tell if Raoul was actually asleep. He'd have to get closer to check, and he was not about to step foot into that room again tonight. It would undermine his threat and his resolve to leave the house without speaking to him again.

Without the blinding rage he'd felt earlier, he could actually determine the original source of his ire. Raoul didn't care if he stayed or left. That was why he was angry. The boy didn't appreciate everything he'd done for him, all the work and time they'd spent erasing Christine from his life, and the blonde wasn't even going to protest him leaving.

Of course, Raoul's reaction made sense, which was why Erik was now angry with himself instead. It didn't matter that there'd been an extra desk or an extra bed. The Vicomte had probably done it all for his comfort so that Erik would be distracted, so that they'd stop having to share a room or sleep on the floor. The Vicomte had done all of those things in order to save himself the hassle of day to day living with Erik.

His attitude and Erik's subsequent response were all just indications that Erik should leave already. He'd overstayed his welcome. This household, this very room, as much as it seemed like his own, was not where he was supposed to be. That feeling of biding his time and waiting for the right moment to search for Christine had finally arrived.

He was leaving; yet, he was also returning, which was another thing he wondered about. The only reason he was leaving for the opera house was so that he could retrieve a mask. Everything else there could be left behind. So, why didn't he pack his clothing now, stop by the opera house, and then leave to search for Christine? He didn't need to return to the Chagny estate.

In the beginning, it had been because he'd wanted to make certain that it was indeed the right time to leave, to ensure that Raoul had in fact gotten over Christine completely.

There was no reason now since it was obvious that Raoul was doing well on his own.

However, when the darkness of night was deep enough, Erik hadn't moved a finger to begin packing his clothing or finish the other necessary preparations. He left with every intention to return once he was done. He wouldn't even be gone very long. He'd return and Raoul would still probably be in bed just sleeping as though Erik hadn't disrupted their daily routine by leaving the estate. He wasn't sure whether he'd be pleased to see such a reaction or further annoyed.

Deciding he could just find out later, he put on his cloak and forced himself not to glance into Raoul's room one more time as he strode purposefully out of the room; he didn't want to see the blonde sleeping soundly, didn't want to be affected by his unconcern.

o.o.o

Once Raoul had settled himself in the bed, he closed his eyes in a poor mimicry of sleep. He was tired, but his mind refused to allow him actual sleep. No matter what he tried all he could do was listen to the footsteps of the man in the room beside his own, or rather, in his old bedroom. Every now and then, he peeked through half-lidded eyes towards the other room just to watch Erik pacing in and out of his sight.

He knew the ghost was waiting to leave for the night, but he didn't want to think about that. As much as he repeated to himself that he'd be able to find someone else to help him with these bouts of loneliness, he couldn't actually believe it. He didn't even understand why it was so difficult now. It wasn't as though he'd never been alone before. There was a time before Erik, before Christine, and he'd been happy. He just couldn't see how that was possible anymore, knowing what it felt like to love so completely and feel loved, knowing companionship and silent understanding. How could he be happy knowing that there was something more out there for him?

Life had been nice with Erik. It had been awkward at first, but despite Erik's constant barbs and criticisms, there was something about his presence that was comforting. Erik had been left behind as well; he knew everything that had happened with Christine. Raoul had never needed to explain or go through the effort of revealing their convoluted past or try to explain why things had ended as they had even when he didn't understand it himself. He'd never be able to have the same relationship with anyone else.

However, he'd been resigned enough to prepare for his departure, and now, he wasn't sure he should have prepared. Maybe he should have asked the ghost to stay. He could still do so actually, but that errant thought couldn't be taken seriously. There'd been numerous errant thoughts that he'd had to discount on a regular basis nowadays, so it wasn't difficult to close his eyes and ignore that particular thought. The difficult thing to do was to focus on something other than Erik.

The ghost had and would always love Christine. Yet, the newfound cynical part of Raoul's mind told him that he'd thought the same thing about himself. He thought that he'd _always_ love Christine. That had been proven false, so maybe it could be false for Erik as well.

However, such thoughts made him wonder if it really was Erik that he wanted. Was it the connection, the understanding, the constant presence, or actually the man himself? Raoul wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

It didn't matter though, he realized as he watched Erik put on his cloak and leave. It wasn't his decision to make.

Such things took too much energy any way. They took too much effort, and it was easier to just wait to see what would happen. The ghost would return and then, he'd leave again. Then, Raoul would be alone again – everyone left him.

Raoul knew what to do this time though. He would get rid of all of the things that reminded him of Erik, and then, he'd find someone else to occupy his time with. That's what he had learned, right? That was why the ghost had stayed so long. He'd stayed to ensure Raoul would learn that particular lesson, and he refused to disappoint him in that aspect.

For a brief moment as he watched the door shutting, he wondered if he could fake not having improved just so that Erik would stay. However, that was one of those errant thoughts that he simply let fade.

He waited only a few seconds after the front door closed before getting up himself. He threw the blankets aside and stood bedside, uncertain what to do next. He'd simply known that he wasn't going to sleep any time soon.

Eye catching a candle that Erik had left on in his room, he wandered over. It wasn't really his room anymore. He could tell that someone else had been living there. There were two sets of clothing and as fastidious as the ghost was sometimes, he hardly cared about where he placed already used clothing. Some shirts were haphazardly thrown on the chair. Erik refused to allow anyone to touch his things until absolutely necessary, so the maids did the bare minimum in terms of cleaning the room.

The door to the armoire was partially ajar and Raoul opened it further. Staring at the coats and jackets, he was surprised. He hadn't realized how much clothing he'd bought Erik. They rarely went outside; he didn't know why the other man would possibly need so much clothing, but it had all seemed so necessary at the time.

He reached up to grab a sleeve of a jacket just feeling the material. He realized belatedly that there was no real order to the clothes; they were all mixed together. It wasn't difficult to see whose was whose though; the dimensions were different enough to notice. His mind finally blissfully blank, he separated the ghost's clothing to one side of the armoire.

Once everything was in order, he looked at his handiwork and closed the doors before moving towards the bed. The covers were still immaculately in place, but he'd known Erik hadn't bothered to rest. Still, he smoothed the blankets from imaginary wrinkles.

Still not remotely tired, Raoul wandered out of the room, making sure not to make too much noise. He didn't bother bringing a candle with him. He knew his home well enough to be able to navigate it without. He bypassed Christine's old room without a glance before heading towards their den. He didn't plan on getting any work done, didn't even pretend to try to be productive. He walked directly to Erik's desk. The desk was always meticulously kept. It was almost humorous just how everything had its place.

Flipping through some of the designs that were in a neat pile to the side, Raoul already knew what he was looking for. There was only one blueprint that he'd ever considered using. Erik's improvements upon the Chagny estate were usually too far-fetched. He didn't want to have to worry about traps in his household. Knowing him, he'd probably set them all off, but perhaps, that's what Erik had wanted in the first place.

He pulled out the one in particular that had always caught his eye. Even in the darkness, it was distinctive. It was the extension to the house for an organ. A music room. Raoul sighed. He'd considered asking some of his people to look at this. It was plausible, but pointless really. Raoul didn't play any instruments. He had neither the talent nor patience to learn an instrument when he could just as easily sing.

It really had been the thought of Erik's look of surprise that always made him consider it though. He was certain it would have been just like when he'd shown him the room. He would've loved to see that expression one more time. However, he wasn't going to get the chance. Erik was going to find Christine. He didn't know why it was so hard for him to understand.

Tired of being reminded of things that weren't going to happen, Raoul headed out of the den. Passing Erik's chair, he paused when he saw the outline of a book left on it. On impulse, Raoul grabbed it before heading down stairs to go to the sitting room.

Hesitating only a moment, he decided to start the fire in the fireplace. He knew he should try to go back to sleep, but the weight of the book in his hand convinced him otherwise. Once the fire was going and the room lit up more, he looked at the book in his hands. _L'Homme Qui Rit_. It was the one that Erik constantly read when they were outside. He didn't think the man would have wanted to be reminded of his past, but perhaps there was something more to it than he truly remembered. It _had_ been years since he'd last read it.

So, he settled in the chair closest to the fire and decided to re-read it.

o.o.o

The sound of the front door closing jerked Raoul out of sleep. He looked around in confusion before remembering that he'd fallen asleep shortly after finishing the book. His neck hurt a little at having fallen asleep in the chair, but he was more interested in what had woken him. The sun wasn't up just yet, so he knew that he couldn't have been asleep for very long at all, and waking up now only made him feel even more fatigued. He'd gotten too used to sleeping normally that his body was unused to what once had been common bouts of insomnia. It was as though he was back at square one since Christine had left, like every happy thought, smile, and laugh since then had been erased and only the exhaustion remained to keep him company.

Twisting his neck to try to stretch the soreness, he placed the book down in the seat as he stood up. He headed towards the door but before he even made it two steps from his seat, someone entered the sitting room. He'd been prepared to ask if Erik had found what he'd been looking for. He'd had it all planned out, from the words to the way he would say it. Even though he was unenthusiastic about his departure, Raoul didn't want to seem downright rude. He'd just been acting foolishly before.

However, it wasn't Erik who was standing there.

"Christine?"

"Raoul." She looked at him with open surprise, eyes taking everything in from his disheveled appearance to the dark circles beneath his eyes that indicated he hadn't slept much of anything the night before. She even caught the bruises on his arms since the sleeves of his nightshirt stopped three-quarters of the way down.

Her eyes filled with something that might have been compassion, but Raoul couldn't be certain for sure. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to keep it from his face. It was the safest action, since he wasn't sure how he should react to her presence. He was almost tempted to just lash out at her. He wanted to scream and hurt her like she had hurt him, but that would simply be hasty on his part if he did so.

He asked without pretense, "What are you doing here?"

"I came back," Christine started, taking a step closer to him. "I want to…" she shook her head, "need to… Can we talk, Raoul?"

His immediate answer was no, but after wanting to speak with her for so long and never being able to, Raoul reluctantly offered her a seat.

Sitting rather stiffly, she began, "I've been travelling, seeing whatever of the world I could."

Raoul looked at her unimpressed. If she came just to tell him that she'd travelled, then he didn't know what she wanted from him.

Seeing that he was not going to ask about where or what she'd done, she gave a curt nod of understanding. He wasn't going to pretend to be interested. "I've changed," she said instead.

He looked at her and could almost agree. She had. Her voice was different, maybe a little more serious, more direct. She dressed differently as well. Her clothes were a little more conservative but from the looks of it seemed rather expensive. He wouldn't be surprised if she told him it was the newest fashion.

"You've done well for yourself," he commented, keeping his voice neutral.

Hesitating for a moment, Christine nodded. "Yes." She smiled sadly. "You see, I've had a lot of time to think and to try to figure out what I want."

Raoul nodded though he didn't how long he could actually listen to her speak. He hadn't taken a seat, had instead chosen to stand practically across the room just so that it would ease the desire to physically harm her. That hold he'd had with her memory seemed to be slipping. Seeing her made him want to confront her about their past. It made him want to yell and grab her by the shoulders to shake her. It made him angry and sad, but since he somehow managed to suppress all those emotions, he was just tired. He wanted to escort her out of his house, but couldn't bring himself to be that rude to a woman he once loved, though that feeling had long since changed.

She actually looked apologetic as she said, "You don't look well."

Raoul sighed. "I didn't sleep well."

"Oh," Christine replied, although it was obvious she didn't actually believe him. After an awkward moment of silence, she uttered, "I'm so sorry, Raoul."

That caught him off guard. He hadn't expected an apology, and after the shock wore off, he became suspicious. "Why?"

"For everything," she said with a heavy sigh, "I didn't see what you'd been offering."

For a frightening moment, Raoul wondered if she had come back in hopes that she wanted to find a way to make their relationship work again. He had to be fooling himself though; it had to be one of those errant thoughts. However, her next words made him freeze.

Shaking her head, she looked at him with wide eyes, "All that I've done to you. I hope that you can put it behind us so that perhaps you could, well, we could…"

Raoul raised his hand to stop her attempt at finding the right words. He tried to hide his disbelief but simply refused to listen to her any longer. Christine needed to get out of his house. He didn't want to see her as anything but someone from his past. She was only an old friend, an old crush, an old flame. All things in the past. His future whether or not he forgave her had nothing to do with her directly. He didn't want it.

"Where are you staying in Paris?" Raoul asked, ready to call his carriage to drive her there.

Christine looked hurt for a second before her expression hardened, determination erasing her immediate reaction. "Raoul, I want to talk about this now. I will not let it be pushed aside."

He was almost impressed. She was indeed more forceful. She must have grown up, matured. She must have realized that her inability to decide or be firm about a decision tended to cause more harm than being upfront about her desires.

"Raoul." She looked him directly in the eyes, and he knew she was serious. She really wasn't going to leave, and then another errant thought crossed his mind – it wouldn't be too bad that she had come back if he was going to be alone again. Someone, even Christine, was better than no one, right?

Allowing that thought to fade, he replied, "I simply wish to rest for a bit before I have to work for the day, Christine. You understand it was still rather early. You've interrupted my sleep."

She stood up. "You said you weren't sleeping."

"I said I was having difficulty sleeping," Raoul retorted.

They stared each other down for a moment. He didn't know who this person was anymore. It looked like Christine and even sounded like her, but her personality was so different, different even from the person she'd been before she left.

She looked a bit tired herself, but she'd said she'd been travelling, so that wasn't a surprise. She was a little more tan and that youthfulness that had once clung to her, making her look even younger and more innocent than what she'd been, was leaving. She was a woman. A stranger, and that helped his resolve with trying to make her leave.

"I'm not staying anywhere," she admitted, looking away, "I'd rather hoped that after our talk I wouldn't need to worry about accommodations."

Raoul's eyes widened a fraction before he shook his head in disbelief. He wasn't sure he could believe that this was happening. Christine had come to him, had spoken to him.

"I refuse to leave," she stated what he already knew.

He was speechless for a moment but knew he had to say something. He had to somehow convince her to leave, but having an argument right now seemed too arduous a task. "Christine. Leave, please. It is inappropriate for you to be here."

She was quick to reply, "It's inappropriate for you to kick me out at this hour."

Hoping that actions would prove to her that he was serious on the matter, he simply turned his back on her and headed out of the room. It was also the easier thing to do. Maybe if he left, she would simply leave as well.

She jogged to catch up, and they stopped near the front door. "Raoul. I will not be ignored." She grabbed his arm and he shrugged her off easily. She was surprised by the action.

"There's nothing I want to do with you." He said as harshly as he could manage before inclining his head towards the door, saying, "Leave."

"Please," she caught his arm again and Raoul didn't shrug her off. He didn't see the point. He wouldn't cave into her whims, but he could almost, in the far distant reaches of his mind, remember who he'd loved even if this woman before him was nothing like her. She pleaded, "Forgive me just long enough to answer one question."

Raoul felt some of his resolve crumbling when that strong woman façade seemed to drop for an instant and she was just Little Lotte again. He wondered if she was in trouble, wondered if he really could do something for her.

He nodded even though he was afraid of what he'd agree to in this state. If only Erik hadn't just left a few hours ago, this wouldn't have been a problem at all. What energy he had was gone with that struggle earlier, his resolve crumbling under the idea that he'd be alone again, and here was Christine begging for his attention and touching him, actually touching him. Maybe… he didn't know what he wanted. He didn't love her anymore, but she didn't have to know that.

He waited to hear her question, holding his breath.

She gave him a tremulous smile before asking, "Do you know where the phantom is?"

Raoul stared at her not able to comprehend her question for long moments. When he finally could react, he flinched as though physically struck and pulled away from her. "What?"

"I've been looking for him," she explained, not meeting his eyes. She looked off to the side with a disheartened expression, eyes distant.

Raoul backed slowly away from her. He didn't feel well. A stabbing pain behind his left eye made him tilt his head downward and shut his eyes. He raised his hand to press against his closed eye in hopes to relieve some of the pain. His back hit a wall and he steadied himself on it. His throat felt dry and he was unsure if he wasn't simply dreaming this encounter, just another odd nightmare to add to the growing list.

She asked again, still lost in her own thoughts, "Do you know where he went? I couldn't find him."

He laughed. It sounded desperate even to his own ears. Christine finally snapped out of her own world, almost as surprised by the sound as Raoul was himself. He didn't know what had come over him.

She looked at him worriedly. "Raoul?"

He looked at her face and smiled bitterly, shaking his head.

She was here for Erik.

He couldn't believe that he'd actually thought otherwise.

And Erik. He didn't know what to think. Maybe the other man had this all planned out. It made sense. It explained why Erik had stayed as long as he had. All some sort of plot as a final test to see whether Raoul would chase after her or try to convince her not to look for him.

Erik left for one night and suddenly Christine showed up? It seemed too much of a coincidence. The ghost had to have somehow kept in contact with her. It wouldn't be difficult. Even though they were together all the time, when they worked, Raoul rarely gave a second thought to what Erik was doing. He assumed it was another project or design. After all, the man was private in general. Raoul could only see a work after it was completely finished.

It wouldn't be that much of a surprise to find that maybe this had been what Erik had had in mind when he said that he'd had plan to 'help' him. He just wanted to give her time to do whatever she pleased, to 'travel' or find herself, whatever she had been talking about earlier. Erik would keep her a safe distance away while he made sure that Raoul wouldn't even hope to find or chase her. He would get close to him and break down his walls just so that it was easier to hurt him enough to warn him against ever following them.

The ghost had succeeded. Raoul never wanted to see either of them again. He didn't want to follow, didn't want to even think about them. It hurt too much to. He was feeling ill again. He pressed his hand to his forehead again as the stabbing pain persisted. After a second of intense concentration, the pain went away and he could finally look at Christine again.

Fighting against the truth of what was happening actually hurt. It wasn't as though there was a reason to fight anymore. This was what he'd expected the first time he'd allowed Erik to speak with Christine. Things had changed again. His world had somehow shifted back to the way it had been before his time with Erik. He wanted to laugh knowing that he wasn't able to cry at the loss. Instead, he decided that he needed the same resolve, the same resignation as he'd had before.

"Are you alright?" She asked tentatively, hand reaching out towards him but stopping herself.

Raoul pushed off the wall and smiled. Christine was actually a little frightened by how manic that smile seemed.

"I'm fine Christine." He was only a little surprised to find his voice completely even, calm, but more importantly, it had sounded like the truth. "I… I've never been better." Getting a sudden idea, Raoul asked as though it were obvious, "Why don't you stay for the night and rest up for a bit? We can talk once you wake." He nodded, rather pleased with the idea suddenly.

Actually afraid to see how Raoul would react if she disagreed, Christine nodded.

"Your old room is gone," Raoul said blithely. With a wave of his hand as though it were nothing, he plunged ahead, the words coming out before he allowed himself to think about it. The irony was simply too much for him. He wanted to destroy all his thoughts, expectations. He wanted to destroy everything he'd held dear in the past few days. With a cheerful tone, he offered, "You know where my room is, right? You can sleep in that bed."

"But…" she tried to protest. She wasn't sure this was a good idea anymore, but this had been the last place the phantom had been. This had been her main hope of finding him. Raoul was frightening her though.

"Don't worry. I haven't really been sleeping there," he said, grin still in place, attitude cavalier. "No one slept there last night either and someone should use it, just make sure to close that adjoining door for some privacy."

"But. How about you?" She asked, completely uncertain with how to react. She'd never seen Raoul like this before, and she didn't know what to expect from him. She just knew that she didn't want to disagree and find out what would happen if she did. He'd never been this unpredictable in the past.

"Don't be absurd. I'll be fine." He said, still for all appearances, in good spirits. He headed out of the house as though their conversation were done even though Christine was still standing uncertainly beside him.

"Raoul," she called after him when he was practically out the door. She just barely was able to react to his sudden decision to leave.

"Just rest for now," Raoul said with a smile that should have been reassuring but simply looked out of place as he walked out of the house.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 17

Word count: 4,984

o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)! Going on a hiatus.

Chapter review: Christine's back? That's just wrong. And Raoul? Mental breakdown? T.T I'm so mean to him.


	18. to lie

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: The first chapter after a break is always one of the hardest for me. It's a lot trying to get into the same mindset and I think I'm failing right now. Remind me next time that I think going on a vacation is a good idea, to not do it until I've finished whatever I'm working on at the time. It'll make all our lives easier. I had to edit this one a million times over and I'm still not pleased, but seeing as I'm already late posting, I figure why not.

Story Note: What, Christine's back? WTH? She's always a complication, but you were expecting that already, right?

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 18 - … to lie

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik knew that he should've been back at the Chagny estate already. Lingering at the Opera Populaire was pointless; however, he was trying to get his thoughts in order. He'd expected the clarity achieved after being angry with Raoul then himself would have remained. Instead, all he could think about now was the fact that he hadn't packed his clothes already. He hadn't prepared everything and made that last encounter with Raoul _the last_. He shouldn't return.

It was obvious that the boy had in fact moved on. He would no longer pose a threat to Erik's main goal, which had always been Christine. Raoul just didn't care.

Unfortunately, he still didn't like how much that thought bothered him.

He'd spent an inordinately large amount of time going through the charred areas of the opera house in an effort to focus. Walking around, he wondered why he hadn't gone to the grave with it. It would have saved a lot of time and effort. Then again, he now had this second chance to have Christine for himself; so, he couldn't complain.

It was just that the past seemed so far, another life entirely, so separate from his life at the moment that he was almost certain it _hadn't_ been him who had stolen through the night teaching Christine or watching the residents of the opera house. It hadn't been him who'd been obsessed with Christine, with her voice, with her future. It hadn't been him who'd despised the Vicomte and had almost killed him on more than one occasion.

And, he wasn't even that person anymore. Was he? He'd proven he hadn't changed much with that last outburst with Raoul, but in the end, he hadn't killed him, which _was_ astounding. Though, that was only a technicality since the Vicomte was no longer his rival. And that was another subject to address…

He was doing a rather poor job of focusing. Erik headed down to his home, an act that should've been familiar; yet, it wasn't the same. He'd always felt like he was fully in his element walking through the passageways. They were his home, the only place he truly belonged since there was nowhere else that would accept him. He'd been free in these tunnels. Not anymore though. There was no freedom in these passageways, no air, no life, nothing. There was another place that he belonged and was accepted.

Pushing the confusing emotions aside, Erik walked through the devastation that had reached even five cellars down into the opera house. In the weeks that had passed Raoul's and Christine's initial departure and then the mob's, Erik hadn't bothered to try to salvage the fragments of his life that had managed to remain. It had seemed unnecessary. He'd been loathe to move at all; cleaning had seemed too arduous a task to undertake. So, it had remained: broken glass, strewn papers, mangled furniture. It was as though time had stood still after they'd gone. In a way, it had – for him at least.

Time had stopped until he'd returned to the surface and had been saved. The novel feeling of a kind hand, the warmth that had spread through his body. The concern. The care. All directed at him. _Still _directed at him.

Forcibly stopping that train of thought, Erik slipped through one of the side passages, moved what looked to be a solid wall before retrieving his spare mask. He'd left the other one for the mob to find in hopes that they would be appeased that he was gone, that he really was just a ghost.

As he held the cold porcelain in his hands, he knew the right action would be to wear it. That had been the point right? He had returned here to get a mask so that he wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing his true face whenever he moved about. He had returned to make looking for Christine easier. He hesitated. Sliding the mask quickly before he could change his mind, it settled against his deformity. He couldn't help but feel the difference immediately. He'd lived weeks without a mask to cover his face, growing accustomed to it. The mask now pressed against his skin and made him all too aware of the bumps and irregular skin; it reminded him of who he was.

He kept it on.

Without the mask on, he lost focus. Without it, he'd lived with the blonde without once trying to kill him. Without it, he'd given Christine away, let her slip through his fingers a second time. It was now obvious that he'd been wrong to let her go in the first place. His face, the core of his weakness, needed to be covered. It was a mental impairment that made him act contrary to what he should. It was best to be the opera ghost than whoever he'd been before.

He'd been _Erik_, not the opera ghost, he realized. He also knew now that he couldn't be both. A fact that rang true was that the opera ghost needed Christine; Erik did his best to ignore the fact that Erik might need something, _someone_ else.

If that were true, he should've felt better with his mask on. His thoughts should have immediately narrowed to Christine like they once had, but he still felt unsettled. Somewhere in the clenching muscles in his stomach, in the nervous energy that seemed to thrum through his limbs. Somewhere in the mask that was the only face he was comfortable showing Christine, the one that now rubbed against his deformity irritably, that he was now unaccustomed to seeing through, that suddenly was slowly suffocating him. Somewhere in all that laid the answer.

Raoul.

It was the blonde that did this to him. He couldn't get Raoul's eyes out of his thoughts. He couldn't forget the way that the blonde looked at him, had looked at him on a daily basis, from morning to night without the mask and still hadn't flinched at the sight. He'd flinched for other reasons like when Erik became aggressive, but just not for his face.

Erik had to physically shake his head in an effort to clear his mind of Raoul again. It was becoming more and more difficult to reign in his wayward thoughts, near impossible because every thought of Christine only brought a corresponding thought of Raoul. Still, he tried.

He'd have to search for Christine, but where. Raoul had already said that he didn't have any idea. However, he was right when he pointed to Madame Giry. That would be his first resource. Yet, he had no intention on heading towards the Giry household at this moment. The only place he could really think about was the Chagny estate and how much he needed to go back. Of course he needed to. After all, he had yet to pack his clothes. He'd yet to prepare his things and go through his works to see which ones he would bring with him and which he could discard of. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was also anxious to see Raoul again, to further gauge his reaction when he realized that Erik was in fact leaving to find Christine and was never going to return, not even to gloat.

Raoul probably wouldn't care. That was the point. It was good to know that some plans succeeded.

He swallowed with some difficulty. One more day, a last day, to spend with Raoul before finding Christine. He headed out towards the estate, rushing, subconsciously determined to make this day last as long as it could.

o.o.o

Raoul pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. His heart was pounding loudly, drowning out any other sound, like his footsteps through the yard or the snapping of branches as he grabbed and pulled at every offending tree that got in his way. After closing the front door, he'd quickly walked away before he found himself running as far and as fast as he could. Resignation. He'd thought he could handle this easily. Hadn't he learned that struggling against other people's decisions was pointless? That he should simply let things be so that it would be less tiring? However, he'd forgotten just how difficult it was to convince his emotions what his mind already knew.

He hit the edge of his estate and for the first time in a long while didn't want to stop; he _could_ keep running, keep moving further away. The nausea that had once kept him in wasn't there. Escape was available, but the point wasn't to escape from just this household. It was to escape everything that had occurred. His self-imposed house arrest could end right now. The world was out there. He could lose himself in it. He knew that and still turned back towards the house. He'd never be able to run far enough away to appease this impulse – not without a horse or carriage or without any food or money.

He stifled the urge to yell again, stifled the urge to hurt something, mainly someone. Running managed to tire him out enough so that he wouldn't be able to both make it back to the house _and_ hurt her. If only Christine were to come to him.

His legs buckled and Raoul dropped to the floor, using the bare minimum of effort to break his fall. The betrayal pressed down; he forewent sitting, his body bent towards the ground. He listened to the harsh sounds of his own breathing. Trying to calm down, he only managed to worsen things as he began to hiccup, his breathing still loud now only interrupted. He hated himself for sounding so weak and pitiful.

Finding it difficult to continue breathing in such a position, he pushed himself onto his back. Looking up, a harsh bark of laughter tore through his throat as he realized he was at the exact same place he'd been the last time Christine had left him, the same place he always seemed to end up time and again.

It was funny, in a way. Tears clung to the edges of his eyes, making his vision blurry. He coughed weakly when a sharp intake of breath caught in his throat. Funny because she'd come back and just for that, Raoul wished he could still love her. He ardently wished that was his problem, but he was coming to the frightening, breath stealing conclusion that it wasn't.

It wasn't her betrayal that was hurting and unfortunately, that thought was persistent. It kept picking at his mind, trying to open a wound he hadn't known existed. It wasn't her that was the problem. It was… himself. He was the problem because the mere thought that Erik had been lying this whole time literally made him gasp with a pain that radiated through his body. He didn't understand how it could physically hurt this much.

Why Erik?

It wasn't a surprise. He kept telling himself that in hopes that it would eventually become the truth. The ghost and kindness… he should have expected.

What was the point in trying to figure out what had happened or who did what? He was so tired. At one point he'd expected this sort of thing. He'd even mentally prepared himself for such a betrayal. What had changed? Raoul shook his head. He'd trusted the man. More than just trust, he'd become dependent. Yet, dependency was too small a word. There was more, so much more between them that it actually worried him, made him question his ability, this hard-learned lesson of independence to be effective once Erik was gone.

Glancing at the sky, Raoul noted that the sun would be rising soon and Erik would be returning as well to see how well his experiment worked. He refused to be found crying on the floor. He refused to be found crying at all. Standing up, he dusted off the grass, fixed his hair, and tried to steel himself so as to be able to enter the house and face both of them with some dignity.

Erik and Christine. Erik and Christine.

All along. How could he have been so blind? Of course Erik had known where Christine had been. What other reason would he have to remain? It obviously hadn't just been for him.

There had to be a way to survive after this.

o.o.o

Erik entered the house, cautious. He knew the servants were just beginning to move about but not in the main house yet. He was a little surprised not to see Raoul puttering about, waiting for him. He climbed the stairs and bypassed his room for the sake of going directly into the spare one.

The first thing he noticed was the closed door that connected their rooms. Turning to the bed, he was about to chastise Raoul when he noticed it was empty. Confused, he entered his room and couldn't help but smirk at the lump he saw in the bed. There was something about the sight that was reassuring, so much so that Erik almost forgot that he was supposed to be annoyed with him. It was such a small rebellion though to close the door and then sleep in their bed. It pleased him in a way he would never admit to that they shared a bed, that there was one more boundary that didn't exist between them. And now, it made him feel that Raoul was still just Raoul and somehow things hadn't changed so drastically.

This fixation with change, with how things had been was beginning to get confusing. He didn't know why it mattered. Raoul, the Vicomte, they were the same, yet a whole other set of emotions were attached to each. Just like there was a difference between the opera ghost and Erik.

He watched Raoul sleep for a while. The form shifted and Erik just waited. After all, Raoul's uncanny ability to know where he was had never gone away. He had rather gotten used to the fact that someone was attuned to his every sound. It wouldn't take long at all for him to be noticed.

Looking a little closer, he was confused when a brown curl appeared beneath the blanket. Taking a step back, his eyes widened while a part of him came to its own conclusions. When the blankets were pushed down fully, he was only partially surprised to see Christine. Surprise quickly turned to disgust. Without questioning why, his immediate reaction was to jerk her from the bed. Luckily for her, upon seeing him, she gasped and quickly stood up smoothing down her skirts and fussing with her hair.

She opened her mouth to give the well-rehearsed speech she'd perfected on her way to the estate. Those weeks alone, all alone in the world, she'd been both elated and afraid. It hadn't been what she'd expected. That anxiety of finally being free never left. It had plagued her until her arrival at Raoul's estate though it had begun to recede once she'd decided to return in the first place. The speech never made it past her lips since Erik spoke before she could even begin.

"Where is Raoul?"

Christine could only stare at him. She'd gone to Raoul's room not knowing what to expect, especially after last night and his odd behaviour. Noting that he'd once again changed the room beside his own to be a bedroom once more, she'd almost been tempted to stay there and just pretend for a moment what it would have been like had she agreed to Raoul's proposal. It was all just fantasy, one that she herself had refused, and she couldn't even bring herself to regret her decision. Instead, she'd done as he'd asked and closed the door.

She did momentarily wonder if Raoul had found another woman already, but then remembered the bruises on his arms. She didn't know why the two were connected in her mind, but they were. She assumed he'd simply taken to getting into physical arguments to relieve the stress of her departure. She'd stopped wondering anything at all when the exhaustion took over. The bed was soft and inviting, an amenity that had seemed so trivial in the past.

But the opera ghost was there now. Raoul must've known where he was and try as she might, she couldn't understand how.

Without waiting for a response from her, Erik left the room without a second thought. Christine chased him down and caught him at the top of the stairs, grabbing his arm. Her cold touch was like a shock to his system.

Where was he going? Christine was right here. The search was over before it even began. She had been in _their _bed, and odd how what once had meant Raoul's and Christine's now meant Erik's and Raoul's bed.

"I came here for you," she explained, expecting that to be the problem. Erik was going to harm Raoul for getting her into his bed.

That statement should have been dubious, considering that she'd just been in what she thought to be Raoul's bed. Yet, he didn't doubt her. He looked into her eyes, expecting to see the person who'd thrown the lamp at his head. Instead, he saw Christine, saw she meant it and instead of feeling the joy or relief he thought he should feel; he was suspicious. He wondered what had happened because as he looked closer, he could see she was tired border lining desperate. It wasn't his place to question that though. He should accept whatever was given now that she was finally offering more than what she'd once said was possible. Why was he hesitating in the first place?

Pressing further, seeing as Erik was still quiet, she asked, "Where were you?"

_Here. _Erik could only dumbly respond. "The opera house."

It was the obvious place and yet Christine hadn't been able to go back there, afraid of what she might find. Afraid that she'd regress even further if she returned to where it had all started. She wasn't the same person as she'd once been. She _had _gotten stronger and knew what she wanted now. Yet, she'd come to realize that she'd overestimated how strong she could be and her won worth to society. She'd reached far and fell. That had been a difficult lesson, one that had changed her completely. She was now more afraid of failing than she was of regressing to become the person she'd once been. Swallowing through the tightness in her throat, she reminded herself that she was going to reach again, but this time she would have someone there to catch her if she did fall. She would make sure of that. She _was _making sure of that right now.

"I was wrong," she said.

Erik didn't reply, didn't think it warranted a response.

"I hadn't known what you were offering, hadn't know how much I wanted it," Christine said. The words came out easily because she knew they would work. They had to, "I love you. I know that now."

Erik looked at her sharply though he responded automatically. "I love you, too."

The words didn't exactly come as easily as they once had, but he realized that yes, he still meant it. After all, the ghost died without Christine. She was the reason for his very being. How could he not love her?

She smiled brightly at him and it lightened his heart to see her beauty, her joy because of him. Some of those doubts, those bothersome unnamed emotions regarding Raoul, were finally muted.

She clutched his hands and said, "Let's leave like you promised. Let's find another place, another opera house, start over. It could be like you'd always imagined."

Those dreams seemed so distant now, but after so many years, it was easy to remember them. Life with Christine would be wonderful, perfect; yet, a cynical side added that it would be nothing like life with Raoul.

Which was good of course.

Erik nodded slowly, gripping her hands in turn, as foreign as it felt.

"Let's go."

They made it all the way down the stairs with her clinging to his arm as though it were natural before he couldn't handle her being so close. As much as he had once wanted her touch so desperately, dreamt of it countless nights, it was as though his body simply rejected her proximity, the unfamiliarity of it. It was more stifling than the mask he wore. She crowded him and he did what he always did when he felt caged, he tried to make distance. Disentangling her hands from his arm, he reached for the front door jerkily before stopping.

"Go wait for me outside," he ordered. He didn't know if it had been a sound that made him pause, but something had.

"Don't do anything rash," she warned, but went outside regardless.

Erik climbed back up the stairs, glancing down the hallway. It looked empty but he could have sworn that someone, something had caught his attention. He walked towards the den, entering the room only to find it empty. Several of his works had been moved, he could easily tell, but that wasn't abnormal. Raoul often touched his things. It was why he kept an extra close eye on where he placed them. He could picture the scrutiny and open appreciation in Raoul's expression. After so many years of working for no one but the rats and the dust, it was nice to feel appreciated.

Christine was waiting for him. They needed to leave. Erik left the room, and though he headed towards the stairs, he found himself in front of their room.

Entering, he faltered. Raoul stood, back turned to him. Erik had a fleeting concern that Raoul had seen Christine and him together even though he knew it made no difference. The boy had sent her to their room. It was the only explanation.

He softly closed the door behind him and only then did Raoul turn, a case held loosely in front of him.

"You let her sleep in my bed," Erik said, distaste evident in his tone.

Raoul glanced at the mussed sheets. Smirking, he fought hard to exude a calm he really didn't feel. "I let her sleep in _my_ bed," he retorted, a short laugh punctuating his sentence. "I figured one last time would have been nice." His tone was self-deprecating but at least not bitter. He didn't want to seem too affected, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Raoul had thought him sincere, that he'd fallen for it again.

Erik's lips tightened to a straight line. He knew Raoul, knew his features and Raoul was lying. About what, he wasn't sure, but he was lying.

"I didn't even have to look for her," Erik replied, irked at the knowledge that Raoul would blatantly lie. They'd spent every minute of every second of their day together for how many weeks and the boy actually thought there was a part of him that he couldn't read. So, even though he knew it was impossible, Erik asked, "Did you send for her for me?"

Raoul scoffed. "Indeed. Can you believe it? She's here on the day that you wish to find her. All it took was a call to a few contacts and she came."

Another lie. One said out of anger, but angry at what? That Christine was leaving with him or that he was leaving in general. He didn't want to know the answer.

Knowing that both of them angry would get them nowhere and that Raoul was currently lying at every breath, Erik decided to give a single concession, knew that Raoul was due for the only one Erik was ever willing to give him.

"I won't leave if you still love her."

He would give Raoul one last chance to answer him directly, only because the day he'd almost wanted to spend with Raoul, their last day together was going to end before the sun had even risen. Only after the words had left his mouth had he realized that he was giving _them_ one last chance.

And Raoul was suddenly tempted, sorely tempted to say that he loved Christine even though Erik would see through the lie. He himself barely understood why completely. He didn't _want_ to understand why he desperately didn't want Erik to leave; he'd been trying to avoid that particular revelation. Instead, he tried to convince himself that the feeling was simply an automatic reaction to someone else leaving him. Tried to convince himself that there would be someone else, but in that grove, he'd leaned against _their_ tree, looking up at the dark sky. He'd realized rather frighteningly that he didn't want anyone else. He didn't want there to be someone else.

Still, he tried to rationalize, afraid of what it would mean if he let himself fully believe the only possible conclusion to his emotions. Maybe it was because Christine had come back for him and just to spite her, he'd suddenly developed this feeling. This desperation he felt was a gnawing pain at the pit of his stomach that told him to lie, yelled at him to do anything to make Erik stay, didn't feel like spite.

He thought back to how every thought of Christine had once had a corresponding thought of Erik and how that had become simply thoughts of Erik. Suddenly, it wasn't so confusing any more.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Raoul made his decision. "I don't love her."

It had taken a while for him to answer, but Erik knew it was the truth. "I'm leaving," he stated the obvious, his voice dead.

Raoul shrugged. "I know." He presented the case he held in his hands.

"You'll be fine." It was a useless platitude that Erik found himself unable to stop from coming out even though a part of him wanted the contrary. He wanted Raoul to be miserable.

"Probably." And, that was a lie Erik was actually pleased to hear.

"I packed your clothes for you. Essentials." Raoul refused to meet his eyes, not when he was wearing the mask and everything was just so wrong. The sight of the mask had been a shock to his system. He'd known at that moment how everything would end, and he'd been right so far.

Erik nodded; grabbing the case, their hands brushed. It should've gone unnoticed – in the past few weeks, they'd rather grown accustomed to those moments when they would touch. It was inevitable. However, this was different. Raoul found himself trying to memorize the fleeting contact – support, a comforting presence that made every day a little better – not knowing that Erik was actually trying to do the same thing – kind hands, hands that night so long ago that had saved his life. How had everything changed so drastically?

"I'll find someone else," Raoul whispered to himself. He wanted the pain to stop. He had no control over the situation so there was no point in struggling, but giving up made it all that much easier for him to stop struggling against the truth of what he felt for the other man. If he wanted to move on, he'd have to first admit there was something to move on from.

Erik heard the statement. It wasn't a lie but tinged with sadness. He scrutinized Raoul one last time. "You do not love her." It was a question though said as a statement.

Raoul grinned despite himself. How he could find humour when he felt like he was going to collapse on the floor was beyond him. "No." It was funny though. It was funny in the way everything had been funny since Erik had left to retrieve his mask, a detached way. He wanted to laugh but feared it would only mean that he'd finally lost it. "You can go." It wasn't fair, but it was funny. "I don't love _her_." Because he meant every single word more in this moment watching Erik ready to leave him than he had meant it any other time.

If Erik heard that emphasis, he gave no indication as he walked out of their room.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 18

Word count: 4,723

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o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: The whore used the same line on both Raoul and Erik. That's simply evil. As for Raoul, he should have lied.


	19. to leave

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Apparently posting sooner than later means more than a week later. Yes, I'm evil, but it's not like I'm quitting the story, just still working towards consistency and failing along the way. I'll succeed eventually.

Story Note: Re-reading that last chapter killed me. Stupid Raoul should've just lied.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 19 - … to leave

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul watched Erik stride out of the room seemingly unaffected by his words, unaffected by the fact that he was leaving a place Raoul thought he had called home. Of course though, why would he be affected by leaving, by whatever Raoul said? Erik had Christine now and everything was as it should have been in the beginning before he'd even known about the Opera Populaire. Except he wouldn't have once loved and twice hated Christine, and he never would have felt Erik's departure as distinctly as he did at this moment.

He shut his eyes when his chest began to ache, but the sight of Erik walking away from him was burned into his eyelids. It was all he could picture, all he could see and feel because he could now really feel the distance grow between them.

Letting out a sharp exhale, his legs buckled beneath him when a wave of fatigue crashed upon him. He managed to stay on his feet by grabbing the bedpost, absently wondering when he'd begun to breathe heavily. He forced his gaze away from the door, letting it fall to the bed. The sheets were in disarray. He'd noticed it when he'd first entered the room but had blocked his thoughts from following that particular path. Christine had slept in their bed. He let out a sharp bark of laughter. Their bed – before victory number two. Or had he only thought of it as _theirs_ after that victory?

Shaking his head, he reminded himself that there was nothing he could do. It had never been his right to have Erik stay with him. It had never been a possibility in the first place.

He could still just barely understand how they'd even come to this point. He knew it had something to do with the fact that he'd decided to walk through Paris one day and help a man he'd wanted to kill, and he cursed himself for that moment of weakness. Oddly enough though, he could imagine killing Erik then as much as he could now, and that was unlikely.

He had the fleeting hope that if he could just pinpoint the moment he'd fallen in love, he could erase it from his mind and everything would be fine. Love? Was this really love? Not wanting him to leave, not wanting anyone else, despising Christine for having what he couldn't. He almost didn't want to name what he felt for Erik, at least not name it the same as what he'd once thought he'd felt for Christine. He just wanted… wanted to know when had claiming Erik as his prisoner turn from a ruse to something more like a desire?

Turning away from both the bed and his thoughts, he saw the fedora he'd planned on giving Erik.

Erik who was… he wasn't anything but leaving him right now, but he had been a constant in his life and thinking back on it, Raoul would have to admit that he'd been… happy. Actually happy and hadn't he once thought that was impossible after Christine?

Before he could think about what he was doing, he grabbed the fedora, swung the door open, and walked quickly out of the room. He wouldn't admit, not even to himself, to nearly tripping over his feet or running down the hallway in his haste.

o.o.o

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears. Erik couldn't think properly.

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Raoul did not love Christine. And while every instinct in him told him that this should be good news, he couldn't explain why he felt like breaking everything on the way to the front door or perhaps punching his fist through the nearest wall or screaming profanities at Raoul's, his… his what? Stupidity? Lack of gratitude?

Erik wasn't exactly certain what, but he knew Raoul was the reason for his ire. He couldn't be mad at Christine. After all, she had returned for _him_. Raoul on the other hand… he was. Why couldn't he finish that thought? Raoul was what? Raoul was going to be just fine. He was going to find someone else and live his happy life on this estate sharing his bedroom, his meals, his office – but wait, no woman would bother to stay with him through all those hours that he spent in the office. Raoul would be alone during that time, able to hum to his heart's content. He and that woman would meet for lunch of course, and then Raoul would probably take her out for a walk under the sun and to the grove in the back. She'd sit beneath their tree and Raoul would stupidly climb it only to fall on the way down.

His heart might have skipped a beat at that thought. He reached the front door wondering if that was how Raoul would die, broken and bleeding on the grass, staring up through the branches at the sun that had once fallen upon him. Banishing that thought immediately, he opened the door to see Christine waiting expectantly for him.

Christine was waiting for him.

Things had indeed changed. His life was going as he'd once planned it. She was his and his alone; she'd even told him she loved him. He shouldn't be letting thoughts of Raoul ruin what he had at this moment. He refused to let that happen.

She extended her hand and though momentarily uncertain, Erik offered his arm, which she took without hesitation. His heart had yet to slow down. In fact, now it was skip-beating so quickly, he almost felt faint. This was really happening. He fought the compulsion to remove his mask. Not because he wanted to gauge her reaction, not even so that this moment would truly be like how he had once pictured it, maskless, rather it was so that he could breathe.

He'd almost forgotten that he'd been wearing the mask when he'd been speaking to Raoul. The blonde never let his eyes linger on the cold porcelain; he never let his eyes linger on the deformity. He only looked at him, at Erik. He wasn't Erik right now though. He was the opera ghost, the one who wasn't bothered by the feel of the mask on his face. The opera ghost didn't wonder if Raoul might die in an accident, falling out of a tree. The opera ghost would think of how he was going to kill the Vicomte, but that was beside the point currently.

Christine, acknowledging his reaction to her proximity before, stayed some distance away even though she held his arm. "You packed?" She asked, indicating the case.

Erik looked down at the case in his hand and nodded absentmindedly. He'd completely forgotten about it. Seeing it and the consideration that Raoul had shown by packing it for him only angered him further. Maybe Raoul had had it prepared for a long while already. He swallowed through the rancor that seemed to have a tight hold on his throat.

"Where are we going?" Christine prompted. She knew of places they _wouldn't_ go if she could help it, and inwardly, she was pleased to know that she _could_ help it.

She had spent the last week after she'd made her decision to return to Paris trying to decide between the opera ghost and Raoul. She'd learned a lot in the weeks that she'd been away and the decision had been harder than expected. She hadn't lied to Raoul though when she'd told him that he was the one that kept dragging her back to the opera house. He was the one that made her that weak again. Everything with Raoul was connected with Little Lotte and that naiveté that had actually led her to believe there had been an angel who spoke to her in the opera house. It was that naiveté that had made her refuse to admit to herself that the opera ghost and her supposed angel were one in the same.

That was the first thing she'd gained from leaving the opera house, from leaving the opera ghost's lair. She'd gained the ability to tell herself the truth, to see through the illusions she'd built up. Once she could truly see, she'd realized that the fairytale life she'd once wanted with Raoul wouldn't have made her happy. _Raoul_ would never be able to make her happy because she'd return to being weak and helpless with him. Moreover, he would never be able to inspire her, to provide that rush of adrenaline and joy that she received from being on stage. A Vicomtess would never be an opera singer. It was unheard of.

Singing was her life. It reminded her of her father. It allowed her soul to take flight in ways that she'd never known possible. Erik had shown her that. Her love for Raoul, it couldn't hold anything in comparison. And of course she loved Raoul. Dear, sweet Raoul who couldn't understand why he would only ever bring her pain. Concerned Raoul who wanted to coddle her and treat her as some doll in a fabricated life she'd never truly feel comfortable in. She knew that. She understood the differences between them, between their lives and their futures.

She had to move forward and the only person she could possibly conceive to help her do so was the one who had in truths changed her life every time they were together. The opera ghost. It had been obvious after a while. The strength of his personality and devotion. The way things consumed him. In retrospect, Christine wanted that. She wanted and possibly always wanted to be able to let _life_ consume her, not him. She refused to allow him that much power over her again, but she _could_ give him what he needed and not lose herself. At least, that's what she told herself. It would be perfect, beneficial to them both. After all, it was an even exchange in the end. He would have her companionship, everything he'd ever wanted before, and she would have the future she wanted. She could say the words I love you without having to mean them completely. She told herself it was that simple and possible and even though it was a gamble, she was willing to take it.

"We'll just leave," Erik finally answered. He had no idea where they should go. Somewhere in all those plans he'd once spent hours upon hours thinking of, he knew the answer to where they would go laid, but he couldn't seem to focus long enough to see it.

He took a step forward just ready to keep moving, but Christine stopped him, holding him back. "Wait."

He looked at her in confusion. She wanted to leave and so did he. He needed to get away from this place.

She wasn't able to continue because the front door opened and Raoul skidded to a halt. His hair was in disarray and Erik could tell that his breathing was a little faster than normal.

Raoul suddenly wished that he'd missed them when their eyes trained on him. Christine stared at him in confusion. In fact, so did Erik. He opened his mouth but decided against it because Erik's last words were suddenly ringing in his ears.

'I won't leave if you still love her.'

And Raoul wanted to scream because he knew what he should have said, what he could still say but knew he wouldn't.

'Would you stay if I loved _you_?'

And that was the problem, right? It was that word again. Love. The one he didn't even know if he could actually still believe in. He'd thought he would've loved Christine to his dying day. He'd felt that strongly for her. He'd been willing to die for her. He would have gladly done so if it would have made her happy.

It was admittedly different for Erik. He was glad for it since if it would have been the same, he definitely wouldn't have cared half as much that he was leaving. Or was that a bad thing? Because if this love was the same, he'd eventually learn to despise Erik and all would be well. And even with the betrayal still fresh, still present right before him, he couldn't bring himself to want that. He didn't think he could bring himself to burn Erik's things in the fireplace like he knew he should or get rid of the room he slept in because he'd be burning a part of himself with it. That was _their_ room, those were _their_ things. With Christine, their lives had been separate to start with so he could avoid remembering or repeating those things they _had_ done together. With Erik… he couldn't just stop living could he?

Obviously he could, but then that would be pointless.

The awkward silence was broken when a carriage pulled up behind him. Erik immediately noticed that it was Raoul's private carriage; it was covered and the driver only inclined his head at them before continuing to stare straight ahead.

Christine tried to turn Erik and he looked down at her in annoyance. What was she trying to do?

She hissed low, "Your mask."

He blinked twice before realizing she meant that he should hide himself. But from Raoul's servants? That was absurd. They constantly saw him without a mask; wearing a mask now would be nothing but an improvement.

Christine didn't know he'd been staying there though. He belatedly realized that was why she had made him stop. The sun was already in the sky; if he turned just so, the rays would hit his face but instead of feeling the warmth on his skin, the dull lukewarmth was painfully obvious. He could only feel his mask.

Raoul took a step forward, fedora stretched out towards Erik.

"To hide." Raoul offered.

Erik shrugged Christine's hold from him and closed the distance between them. Christine could only watch in shock.

He didn't bother with the hat instead grabbing a fistful of the front of Raoul's shirt, lifting him up to his toes. Still, Raoul's hands didn't grab him like he expected. Instead, he stood there, eyes cast down towards the ground trying to relieve some of the strain on his shirt.

Erik couldn't stand the sight of him. The fedora was the last straw. Something in him snapped and he didn't bother trying to understand what he was feeling beside annoyance, anger, and of course the need to injure someone.

"Remember," Erik ground out, yanking the fedora from Raoul's grasp and tossing it behind him. He didn't care where it landed. Christine watched it flutter down to the ground from her peripheral vision, her eyes unable to be drawn completely away from the scene before her.

Raoul was on his toes and yet still somehow limp in the ghost's grasp. He wasn't fighting back and though it should have been obvious since he'd been the one to call the ghost for her, she still expected him to fight a bit. Their words were so quiet; she could only hear a murmur of what passed between them. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to interrupt what was transpiring between them.

"How could I forget?" Raoul spoke, the disgust and pain thick in his voice, "With all the effort you've put into this." His eyes flickered past Erik, and for the first time since he'd told her to sleep in their bed, he looked at Christine.

"Thank you for waiting as long as you did," Raoul raised his voice so that she could hear. He meant it, too. He was somehow thankful that Christine had waited this long to return. Or should he be thanking Erik because it _was _his plan. No, Christine was a strong girl. She'd left looking for something that Raoul obviously couldn't offer her. She'd said as much; so, she must've asked Erik for some time. And, with her absence, Raoul had been given time to remember the fun of living. He'd been able to get some semblance of happiness in his mind, in his memories before he was left alone again.

Since he was still looking at Christine, Raoul didn't see the punch coming. The only thing he knew was that one second he had been looking at Christine and the next his eye and cheekbone hurt and he'd ended up on the floor.

One hand covering his right eye and temple he groaned before looking up at Erik. It was difficult to concentrate with the stabbing pain and the fact that he didn't think he could open his right eye more than a fraction, but he managed.

Erik was breathing harshly, chest heaving and he was staring at his fist in confusion. He had never punched anyone in his life. He hadn't even thought of doing it once. All he had seen or thought were Raoul's eyes not focused on him and the boy thanking Christine. _Thanking_ her. And then, Raoul was on the floor and his fist hurt.

He'd never punched anyone in his life because that was only meant to inflict pain and rather ineffectively. He only injured people to kill, one goal in mind, but he could suddenly see the appeal of hurting someone with fists. Erik didn't quite feel better but he did want to do it again. He liked not only the pain he knew Raoul to be feeling but the pain he felt in return. The ache in his hand somehow matched the ache in his head and chest. It was as though his whole body was thrumming, a mixture of pain and restrained aggression.

Finally looking down at Raoul, he almost felt a twinge of something other than pleasure, but Raoul didn't look anything but surprised and perhaps resigned. Erik took a step forward before remembering himself. Christine grabbed his arm again, and he turned almost ready to strike her as well. He didn't though when he saw her holding the fedora for him.

"You need to hide your mask," she reminded him as though Raoul's appearance had never occurred and she had just stopped him from leaving that first time.

He nodded and wore the hat low over his face though he could see no reason why now when they were going to take the carriage.

Raoul was still on the floor, hand still covering half of his face and Erik could almost see the irony in that. That they were both hiding their faces at this moment, wearing a type of mask in their final good-bye.

"A day." Raoul didn't bother standing up. It would have taken too much effort and he wasn't certain Erik wouldn't have punched him again. "You have my carriage for a day."

Erik glanced over his shoulder and the driver wasn't looking at them; he knew that turning a blind eye and forgetting where they had gone would be a reliable trait.

It was at Raoul's statement that the driver jumped down and opened the door. He took the case from Erik, securing it on top of the carriage before helping Christine in.

Erik wanted to say something else. He wanted to hurt Raoul again but seeing the blonde slumped against his own home, the building they'd shared hours upon hours of their time together, nothing came to mind.

He reached up and felt the mask before shaking his head and getting into the carriage, the driver shutting it behind them.

Raoul leaned his head back onto the wall and closed his eyes for only a second. It hurt to keep them open but he rolled his head to a better angle and forced himself to watch them leave. He _needed_ to convince himself that Erik was leaving with Christine, that this moment wasn't some nightmare. He needed to convince himself that what he felt was real – as though he couldn't feel it in his bones or the bruise that was surely going to be on his face.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 19

Word count: 3,339

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o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Damn it, Raoul. He had a second chance at making things right; instead he let Erik go _again_.  
And yes, I realize _lukewarmth_ is not a word.


	20. to cry

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Finally got this done. Finally.

Story Note: I really need to stop doing this to Raoul. I call this one the "everyone's thinking way too much" chapter. Revelations, delusions, and a new coping mechanism is found.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 20 - … to cry

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

At first, Raoul had been left alone; that had been fine with him. He hadn't the strength to form coherent thought, hadn't the strength to move from his spot even after everything had fallen silent, the horse hooves and creak of wheels long gone.

It was only when the sun had hit his eyes, further exacerbating his headache, did his servants try to speak with him. They blocked his view of the path before him, crouched down and tried to convince him to move out of the sunlight and into the house so that he would not become ill. Raoul simply pushed their voices out of his mind, ignored them completely. He let himself not see, not hear anything. They weren't the one's he wanted to see, theirs wasn't the voice he wanted to hear.

Now that Erik wasn't beside him making snide remarks, Raoul couldn't believe just how much he missed the other man's voice. He couldn't believe how silent, even with the birds chirping loudly and the trees rustling in the hot breeze, it could be. No, not silence; it wasn't quiet. There was a void, an emptiness that ate away at him.

Sometimes he could swear the breeze brought with it _their_ voices, their conversations, but he knew that to be impossible. He could still hear voices though. Not Erik's or Christine's of course. Christine's voice was light, though that was not exactly true. Her voice had become something dark, angry near the end. Always angry with him. And, Erik's had gone from that deep terrible voice that promised of pain to something else, mocking then angry.

At some point, he must have closed his eyes because he could catch those brief glimpses of voices as fragments of thoughts in his mind's eye. He knew that somewhere outside of his mind, outside of the fact that he'd been left alone again there were people who might actually be concerned about him, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. He was alone.

"Shouldn't we…?" "We can't…"

Their sentences became phrases. His mind processed the bare minimum, a selective process that Raoul wasn't really controlling because if he had been, he would have shut out the familiar voices completely.

"Inside? …tried…" "He's not…"

He didn't know what the criteria for the words were, but they were disrupting his thoughts nonetheless. He worked harder to ignore them. Couldn't he just be given some time to sit here?

"… _never_ liked her…" "…listening…" "Not that it matters…"

He realized dimly that the words were echoing his thoughts. They were echoing his failure, echoing words that he wanted to say aloud but didn't allow himself to.

"We could try…"

No, it wasn't that he didn't allow himself.

"… can't…"

It was that he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough to say the words.

"… thought he was…" "… good for…"

Him. He was never strong enough.

Raoul wondered if the words were even being spoken aloud to begin with. Maybe they _were_ really his own thoughts. It could be his voice, but…

"… hunt him…" "…bring him back…"

He couldn't recognize either way; it was as though he'd forgotten what he sounded like when he spoke. He couldn't identify the voices, make the connection of the feeling of familiarity to an actual person. He just knew that he would never be tenacious enough to say the words aloud – to speak it made it that much more real. It took too much effort to make thoughts words and words into actions. He was always stuck in that first step.

"… why?"

He was certain the sun had become brighter.

"… better this way…"

A way to measure distance. No. Raoul corrected himself.

"You think…?"

Just a way to measure time.

And then the voices left him alone again.

o.o.o

The travel was quiet. Christine hadn't expected anything else. The most words they'd shared in the past had always been at critical moments in their lives. No trivialities between them, just singing, orders, and those tense moments that shaped their lives at the opera house. Without any of that, she didn't quite know what to say. She wasn't going to ask about what he'd been doing because the last time they'd been together, she'd hit him over the head with a lamp before proceeding to leave him there, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. The bigger fear was that he might reciprocate and ask _her_ – she wouldn't be able to answer the questions herself.

What she hadn't expected though was this heavy silence. She hadn't expected the ghost to be so obviously displeased with their current situation. Wasn't the whole point of choosing the ghost so that they could _both_ have what they wanted?

It could simply be due to what had happened earlier, she reasoned.

To some degree, she had expected what had occurred at the Chagny estate. It was simply the old enmity between them finally coming to a conclusion. In fact, she had never gotten the chance to tell the ghost that she hadn't slept with Raoul. She attributed at least part of his anger to the fact that she'd been caught in the Vicomte's bed.

She'd tried to start a conversation several times; yet every time, the words died before they even came to be. Instead, she alternated between watching the landscape as they went further and further away from Paris and dozing. She needed to be prepared when the time came to find lodging. Rest had escaped her the past few days, and she knew she needed to be alert. The ghost couldn't do it for them and she wasn't even certain if he had thought to bring money or if they had any money at all. They might have to make a run for it early in the morning. It hadn't been that difficult when she was by herself. She doubted it would be difficult with the ghost. Her angel wouldn't slow her down; if anything, it would be the other way around.

Sometime near noon, they'd paused a short while in a field by a small lake. The horses were given a much needed rest and drink. The driver didn't speak to them, didn't even tell them how long they'd be stopping. Either way, Christine hadn't been able to stand the thought of spending the whole day sitting, so she'd exited the carriage.

The ghost didn't even acknowledge that they'd stopped. He only stared fixedly at the wall across from him, angry expression a clear sign that Christine should not bother him. So she hadn't; another change, another lesson she'd learned. Her curiosity was dangerous when left unchecked.

She stepped into the hot summer air and shaded her eyes. They were making really good progress. The further away from Paris the better – they needed to move as far away from their old life as possible. She wanted to forget all of it.

Christine couldn't help but wonder about the ghost, so lost in his thoughts and concentrated to the point of ignoring her. It was so similar to when he'd been composing at the organ after he'd taken her down to his home that first time. It was odd how she'd never seen him this focused – she tried to think of a time when he'd been this concentrated without music, but nothing came. Maybe it was because she'd never once again seen him unawares after that incident. He'd been cautious around her then, allowing her little freedom in her lessons or in any other of their interactions. This focus was even unlike the one at Don Juan. That had truly been focus, but it had bordered on desperation.

Shaking her head, she stopped thinking on it. She was certain that he would return to normal soon.

Her stomach growled loudly, but she ignored it easily. She had experienced worse than missing a meal, so didn't bother to mention anything, didn't even think to ask for them to stop anywhere, not when it would slow their progress. All she wanted was to get far, to keep moving further.

She hadn't been able to leave France in her own travels, had been too ill-equipped to do so, but now, she was beginning to think that outside of the country was a very good place to start anew. It would be perfect for them, new identities, new scenery, new people. Everything new.

o.o.o

"Vicomte."

The road that led up to his home. That's how he'd really only ever thought of it.

Even when Christine left him. It had been a road to his home that she was simply misusing.

"Monsieur Le Vicomte."

Now, it was a road that led people away. It was a path that was an escape for everyone. Empty, dusty, dark.

"Monsieur. You need to go inside."

It looked strange, like it was the first time he was ever really seeing his own estate. Had it always been this empty? This quiet? This lonely? And it felt like his estate extended to the horizon, continuing onward into the darkness.

Two servants came and grabbed an arm on each side, hauling Raoul to his feet. He didn't once glance at them or acknowledge their presence. Sharing a concerned look across their employer, the servants ushered Raoul into the sitting room.

A stranger to his own home, and yet, Raoul knew he didn't belong anywhere else. Or did he? He could still leave, find the edge of this estate. It really couldn't just keep going on forever.

They draped a blanket over his shoulders and started the fire even though the night was mild.

His head hurt thinking this much.

A damp rag was pressed into his hand and brought up to his face.

Oh yeah, Raoul mused lightly, it wasn't a headache. It was the bruise on his face that hurt. A parting gift, a way to remember that he was hurting for a reason. It had all been a plan and shockingly enough, it still made sense to him. Everything made sense now that he knew the truth of why Erik had stayed; that's what was making this more difficult. If he could fool himself into believing there had been something else there, then maybe he would have done something. Maybe. Or maybe not. It might have somehow hurt less. He wasn't sure.

It was a slight clinking sound that managed to snap him out of his musings. Raoul looked around in confusion. He noted the fireplace and the blanket around his shoulders. It was summertime. He shouldn't be this cold, but his body was shivering nonetheless.

o.o.o

Erik was fuming. The fedora was crumpled and twisted in his grasp. He couldn't think of anything but Raoul and his stupid expression, resigned. How did he have any right to be resigned when he was the one who had packed his luggage for him, when he'd been the one to chase them downstairs and give him this fedora? That was _not_ resigned. That was eager. Said article of clothing was twisted into an unrecognizable ball of cloth before Erik forced himself to release it. He'd been staring at the damnable hat for hours now.

At first he'd been able to distract himself with the scenery outside, peeking through a mere sliver past the curtains when there had been people. It wasn't as though he could allow himself to be seen, but that proved to hardly be a problem since the driver took them through the countryside, avoiding the busy streets of Paris as much as he could. Once free from the city, Erik could only admit that he'd become more tense. He was leaving the life he knew… the Opera Populaire of course. He refused to note the fact that his life hadn't been at the Opera Populaire for months now. So, he'd tried to content himself with staring outside, but all those trees and open land only served to remind him of the Changy estate. The place was following him.

His mind kept returning to the point where Christine had told him to stop. He'd been ready to go and she'd been the one to stop him – only because of his face, he reminded himself, but Raoul had come then as well not to stop him but to wish him farewell. Why did that seem wrong?

Now that he thought about it, Raoul had looked ready to say something to him before stopping himself. Then, the blonde had offered the fedora and Erik knew that wasn't what he'd wanted to do. 'To cover your face' was an extraneous statement that never needed to be said between them. They'd cut those phrases out of their life together, but Raoul had said it to replace what he hadn't been able to say and for some reason, Erik's mind would not let go of what that sentence might be.

Raoul had run after him and he wanted to laugh at the thought, the mental image of Raoul racing down the stairs to catch up to him. Once again, his body thrummed with suppressed aggression as his mind flirted along the edges of a forbidden set of emotions, forbidden in their improbability, in their impracticality, in their very idiocy. He hadn't even allowed himself to make that thought solid, and yet he hadn't been able to rid himself of it completely either.

If only it were that easy to marshal his thoughts. They ran in circles, first the opera house to the Chagny estate then to this carriage. It would of course have to linger the longest at the Chagny estate.

The carriage stopping brought him out of his musings and he looked at Christine as though he just realized she'd been in the carriage with him this whole time. He wondered if it was lunch time already. He was surprisingly hungry – he blamed it on the fact that he'd been eating rather consistently with Raoul; he shook his head at the thought that his body had grown accustomed to such a thing. Sometimes, the thought of the amount of time they'd spent together was astounding.

"I guess this is where the driver leaves us," Christine said, pulling the curtain aside to look outside.

Confused, Erik looked out the small carriage window himself. It was dark. Had they travelled a whole day already?

He turned his attention back on her. Christine looked tired. Her clothes were in disarray from having twisted in her seat uncomfortably. Erik didn't miss her small intake of breath.

"Is there a problem?" Erik asked, just barely interested. He chastised himself, hearing his tone utterly bland. This was Christine. Christine was with him and he'd spent his time thinking about Raoul. Hadn't he already endeavored to think only of her now? Christine who said she loved him. He had to focus.

Christine gave a tight smile that did nothing to cover her anxiety, "No. Everything's alright."

Erik narrowed his eyes, letting her know that he wasn't convinced. Before he could truly question her though, she opened the door and Erik pressed into the shadows of the carriage. She slid out, saying, "I'll find a room before returning."

Erik scowled even though she would be unable to see it, perhaps because she was unable to see it. After a few seconds, the carriage shook a little again and Erik assumed that the driver had jumped down.

o.o.o

"You were outside the whole day," a voice informed him.

Raoul looked away from the blanket in his hands to his butler who stood nearby holding a bowl of what he assumed was soup. The clinking noise had been the spoon against the bowl.

"I do believe the sweat has something to do with your chills."

Raoul nodded, though his mind was still trying to catch up. He stood up on shaky legs to walk over to the large hanging mirror in the room. Pulling away the rag from his face, he frowned seeing a trail of water slide down his very obviously bruised cheek. The discoloration was mainly focused on his cheek but it crept up around his eye as well. His face was dirty from the dust carried by the breeze, making the twin trails down his cheeks all the more obvious. Glaring at his own reflection, he roughly wiped away the tear streaks with the rag.

He hadn't even realized.

"Was I…" Raoul didn't know if he should actually ask this, but he needed to know, "Was I crying?"

"If you were, Vicomte, it was quietly. You hardly made a sound the whole day."

Raoul nodded. It felt as though he hadn't spoken in days. He almost expected his voice to croak from disuse, but it sounded perfectly normal. Wearily, he walked back to the chair, gathering the blanket around himself firmly before accepting the tray of food.

"You refused to respond to anyone, but as night fell, we decided to move you inside ourselves."

Raoul met his eyes and smiled gratefully. "I thank you for that." He added as an afterthought, "I don't know what came over me."

He did know and from the expression on his butler's face, apparently so did everyone on the estate. He just hadn't realized he'd spent the whole day outside lost in his thoughts. But maybe a part of him had just been waiting, hoping that that road wasn't just one that led people away from him.

o.o.o

He'd been correct when he assumed the carriage moving meant the driver had jumped down from his seat. The door opened shortly after that and the luggage was thrust into his hands as the driver manhandled him out of the carriage. Erik was about to protest when the other man gave him a look of utter disgust and hatred that Erik was actually taken aback. He stood on the street, holding the case and watched the man's back as his shoulders rose and fell, his breathing harsh as he gripped the door of the carriage. The man was trying to calm down and doing a poor job of it.

Looking around, Erik noted that no one was around due to the late hour. However, he still fixed the fedora so that he could at least hide his mask better. Erik surprised himself when he couldn't even bring himself to be angry at the man. He was scowling, but he wasn't angry. He hated those looks and in another time, what felt like a completely other life, he would have killed the driver for it. Yet, he almost felt like he deserved it, like the emotions that were trapped within him, the ones that confused him, were utterly clear to this man – so clear that the anger and aggression had no other outlet but physical violence.

When the driver finally turned around, it was obvious that he'd managed to calm down considerably. The door to the carriage was still open and the man had looked at Erik expectantly before glancing back towards the inside of the carriage. What was expecting? For Erik to walk back in and return to the estate? Erik looked towards the corner that Christine had disappeared around. It had looked like she knew exactly where she was going.

If only he knew the same thing. Glancing back at the driver, he noticed the way his lips were pressed tightly together, brows furrowed. It was disappointment. The man _had _been offering a chance to go back to the Chagny estate, back to Raoul, and he knew Erik's answer.

Erik shook his head once before taking to the shadows, chasing after Christine. He gave the impression of being firm in his decision but when he heard the carriage begin moving, he hadn't been able to keep himself from watching it leave. He stared for long moments until it was out of his sight, his breaths shortening like the driver's had before he turned back towards the direction that Christine had headed.

o.o.o

Raoul forced himself to eat only because he knew that he was hungry, but the more time he was given in the silence to think, the more obvious Erik's absence became as he ate alone, the first time in how many months, he couldn't help but become agitated. He chastised himself for crying, even as he wondered if mourning was really all that bad. He'd moped around with Christine. He'd wasted away hours, days; hell, he himself had wasted away as well. Shouldn't he be allowed to do the same for Erik? Especially when he… he already admitted it to himself and yet he seemed to hesitate to think of his feelings for Erik.

He had to move on. Placing the empty tray of food aside, he walked towards the mirror again. Staring at his own reflection for a few more moments, he raced up the stairs to their bedroom… not their, _his_ bedroom and grabbed an armful of Erik's clothing before running back downstairs. The fire was there, waiting for him to start the process. He could start getting better this very moment. He made it far enough to stare at the fire and feel its heat, but he couldn't throw the various articles of clothing in. He just couldn't do it.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt a stray tear make its way down his cheek. It hurt to close his eyes as such, half his face still aching. He threw the clothes down onto the floor before joining them on his knees. Cursing in his head, he leaned against the mantle wondering how he'd be able to do this. He knew he shouldn't even be feeling anything towards the man but anger and hatred.

Erik had never felt anything for him. It had all been a plan, and Raoul cursed himself for falling for it, for falling in love with someone who probably didn't exist, who was simply just a ruse.

Listlessly, he lifted up a shirt and stared at it. He could picture Erik in it, could smell him on the clothes.

Erik was too cruel.

Their lives had revolved around each other. He hadn't been able to breathe without Erik knowing he had. Erik hadn't been able to move without Raoul knowing his position. It was cruel to spend that much time together only to leave him again.

Perhaps, that was what hurt the most. Not that Erik still loved Christine, but that what they'd been to each other, their time spent together had really all been a farce. In the end, it had meant nothing because Erik had chosen to leave him for Christine.

He didn't want to mourn, didn't want to cry, but maybe… Erik wasn't Christine and he couldn't get over him like that. He _loved _Erik no matter how much he tried to ignore the feeling. He doubted that would disappear or be replaced any time soon. He was almost certain of that fact, but if he _could _mourn Erik's absence, convince himself that it was alright to love him without feeling like a complete fool, without feeling so betrayed, then maybe he'd be able to move on.

It was so clear now how to get through this. So obvious.

A part of him knew this probably wasn't the best idea, but it was better than the alternative. It took too much effort to be that sad, to feel that betrayed with every breath he took, and if he became any more depressed, he doubted he'd have the strength to pull himself out of it. He wasn't willing to waste away, not yet, not for a lie; even if this solution would be a lie, it'd at least be one that would help him move on.

He could just pretend that Erik had died. After all, in a way, he had. Raoul would never see him, hear him, or touch him ever again, and wasn't that just as bad as dying? The main consolation from this though was the fact that if Erik _had _died, he wouldn't have chosen Christine over him. He'd be gone but not through his own will and this whole ruse would never have happened. He could fool himself into believing that Erik hadn't had Christine waiting for him until this little experiment was through, that Erik had been there for Raoul, thinking of Raoul, and not just biding his time for Christine.

Sadly enough, Raoul realized that it was easy to fool himself into believing that; he so desperately wanted it to be the truth. It only took a few seconds of deliberation where he almost convinced himself that he shouldn't be making these kinds of decisions when he was still hurting this badly. Then, that pain was exactly the reason he needed a solution. He couldn't erase Erik from his life, like he'd done with Christine. He didn't want to come to the conclusion that he didn't love Erik. He just didn't want to feel betrayed or foolish or anger whenever he thought of him.

Erik was dead.

He might have loved Raoul back given more time. If they'd had more time together, Erik would have thought of him in higher regard. He would have chosen to stay if it had been possible.

Raoul slumped further against the mantle, his body relaxing as he let grief instead of betrayal wash over him. He let a few more stray tears go, relieved that he didn't have to try to be angry, try to hold back an emotion that was too strong for him to forget. He'd loved Erik. How could he have not realized it sooner? But missed opportunities were better than trying to deny the emotion.

He thought back fondly on their time spent together before falling asleep.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 20

Word count: 4,295

o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: No, Raoul's not crazy. He's just particularly good at ignoring people and getting lost in his thoughts. Okay, so maybe he's having a _temporary _mental breakdown. Two people he loved did leave him all alone _together_. And, besides, Raoul's just obscenely good at lying to himself.


	21. to confront

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story Note: Quicker turnover rate.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 21 - … to confront

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Christine knew this town. She knew it like a nightmare she wanted to forget but couldn't, not when it revisited her night after night. This city had no opera house. It had nothing that should mean anything to her, and yet it did. Of all the towns, of all the cities they could have stopped at, why did it have to be this one?

This was a dirty town, so full of undesirables and drunkards that the streets stunk of it. She just hadn't realized it then. At the present, she wondered if it was only her imagination that made her grimace at the streets and shops around her, that made its filth so apparent to her.

Still so new to the world, new to truth, Christine hadn't been able to understand how Paris could somehow be more kind than a city less than half its size. She'd thought that the smaller the city, the more honest people became. After all, they were forced to deal with the same people every day; they spent their lives having to coexist. She hadn't understood how there was some comfort in anonymity, in having people not care to know anything about her.

They didn't need to know that she'd first been protected by her father and then by the Opera Populaire, and for a while, she'd hated both father and opera house for not teaching her how to survive on her own. It was _their_ fault she hadn't been prepared, but she hadn't been able to dwell on that emotion for very long. She'd had to focus on her next meal, on the next place she would be able to sleep.

She strode into a not quite familiar inn, entering as quietly as she could while still maintaining some semblance of arrogance. The appearance of strength was sometimes as good as the real thing. Christine understood that well now. The appearance of _anything_ was almost as good as the real thing. The room opened into a tavern and dining room. There were a surprising number of men gathered around a single table, rather loud and boisterous, while a handful of others were scattered at their own tables. It was just like all the other inns Christine had seen in her travels. The rooms would be above, and of course, she was shortly greeted by a middle-aged man, thankfully not a person she recognized, who she knew to be the innkeeper.

"Looking for lodging tonight?" He asked with a smile that put Christine on edge.

"My husband and I are indeed in need of a room," Christine stated coldly.

The innkeeper glanced behind Christine towards the door expectantly before looking at Christine with a knowing smile. He didn't believe her. She briefly wondered how many women travelling alone had tried to use that excuse to find some semblance of security for the night. Then again, how many women travelled alone?

"He's dealing with the carriage," she explained without hesitation, explained as though she was annoyed she had to in the first place. Noise from the large group drew her attention away momentarily. She froze when she suddenly saw a face she recognized immediately. Before the innkeeper could say anything more, she bowed her head slightly with an apology and rushed out of the inn.

Hand clutching at her chest, she tried to calm her heartbeat. There was nothing in the world that would make her stay in that inn. In a city this large, she knew she'd be able to find another one. Nevertheless, she had to endeavor to keep the nausea back, to keep her back straight and steps steady. The darkness would hide her fear and disgust.

o.o.o

Raoul wasn't sure, but he was almost certain that he'd been dreaming. A good dream this time even though it reminded him of those nightmares he used to have when Christine had been living with him.

It was just a vague notion in his head, but there'd been a familiarity with what was occurring. Except in Christine's place, it was him. The famed opera ghost succeeding in kidnapping _him _and killing Christine. And that was simply too twisted.

His mind was fuzzy and still, he knew how wrong it was for him to feel as such. Christine had not been part of a good period of his life, but he had no right to want her dead, even if she had broken his heart, took advantage of his love for her, and stole Erik away from him. He sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. His back hurt, which wasn't surprising, having fallen asleep on the floor against the fireplace. Erik's clothes were still strewn across the floor and across of him, a shirt draped on his lap. He rubbed the material between his fingers.

Picking it up, he stared at it. He didn't even have enough energy to cry again. Erik was dead. And it hurt. It hurt, but it didn't threaten to push him into doing something rash like he knew he was more than capable of doing, like race after them. Instead, it exhausted him. It made him want to hide away from the world. The bed was calling him.

He barely made it up the stairs and into the spare room. He refused to sleep in a bed that Christine had just slept in; it wasn't even an option. Drifting off to sleep, he hoped against hope that maybe he'd dream the same dream, or perhaps just any dream where he could be happy.

o.o.o

There had been no incident in the second inn. She was still on guard, but the innkeeper had simply given her the room number and key and left her to her own devices to find it. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Making the decision to see the room before going back out to find the carriage, she climbed to the second floor and keyed the room open. She stopped short when she saw the opera ghost standing by the window, waiting for her. The fedora was in his hands. His mask seemed to catch the meager light from the candle and her breath might have caught in her throat. The case was already on the single bed she'd asked for – the marriage lie would have been easily seen through if she'd asked for two beds.

Erik fixed her with his gaze, and in that moment, she knew that he'd seen everything that had occurred. There was nothing telling about what had transpired except perhaps a seemingly irrational action in the first inn, but she knew he was letting her know that he had _seen _it occur. Erik didn't ask any questions, didn't feel it was his right to ask her anything of her past since he'd been trying so hard to convince himself that the past didn't matter. Whatever had happened meant nothing to the present where they were both here in this room of their own volition. He didn't want to examine why that was so difficult to accept though.

Christine forced herself to stop looking so wide-eyed. Making sure her expression was neutral, she closed the door, her back turning towards her angel. She wondered what she should do. There was no way she could answer any questions.

What could she say to the opera ghost? What could she say without seeming like a fool, without telling him everything that had happened to her? Surely then, he would hate her. He would see that she was truly unworthy and see through her current lie of loving him. How could she even begin to explain that her first night away she'd been propositioned without even realizing it? _Share a room with me; you won't have to pay. _She bit her tongue in memory. Why had she gone with that man? Why hadn't she realized that anything that sounded so good had to be bad? Like a sheep to slaughter. All she could remember were his hot breath on her throat, his heavy weight, and roaming hands. She hadn't felt clean for days afterwards and she'd even managed to get away. Not until after his hands had slipped beneath her clothes; her skin crawled at the thought. Not until after his tongue had practically been shoved down her throat and her hand had been thrust into his trousers. Her hands clenched. No, she'd gotten away, but not until _after_.

And yet that had helped her survive. That experience had given her a means to survive when she'd been completely helpless. She could walk into a tavern and pick a man clearly too drunk to do anything but talk loudly and brag to his friends. And even though she felt dirty for doing so, she'd flirt and touch him willingly, almost lewdly before taking him to his room, making sure to bring another bottle or two of alcohol and insist they drink it before getting any further. When they passed out, she would take their money and leave to find another inn. It was easy, almost too easy for her though she tried to do it as little as possible because there were times when they _didn't_ fall asleep and she'd have to fight them off before running. She'd have touched and kissed them for no reason and be forced to find shelter elsewhere.

She didn't know whether she was more disgusted with these men or with herself for becoming proficient in doing so.

No, she couldn't say those things aloud, not to the ghost, not to anyone. She refused to because she didn't other people's pity. She'd managed to rise above all that before it all came crumbling down upon her again. She was going to rise again, and this time – she turned around to meet her angel's eyes easily – she wasn't going to fall back down.

Instead of saying anything, Erik turned his back to her to stare out the window. He almost didn't recognize this woman. He'd never seen her give such a stern expression, a shuttered one, and for a moment, Erik did wonder about what could have possibly happened to her to change her so. He'd turned though because as he realized her change, he wondered if he had changed as well, if that change was as obvious.

Christine cleared her throat. "The carriage left?"

Erik nodded.

She looked around the room before focusing on the case on the bed. Without asking for permission since he seemed preoccupied with his thoughts, Christine moved to open it.

Her gasp caught his attention though. He turned around slowly, keeping his expression blank even when he saw the large pile of money that Christine was currently holding up in the candlelight. She upturned the bag, tossing everything that wasn't francs off to the side, as she rushed to count it all.

Christine couldn't believe it, but it made sense of course. Her angel had gotten a salary for his time at the opera house, but she'd… she didn't know. She'd thought that he must have used it all or it was burned when the opera house went up or the mob had taken it when they'd raided his home. She didn't know, but this money, it was more than enough. They could start a new life. Anywhere. Her mind reeled at the concept. They could start over anywhere they wanted. She'd never have to stay in another inn and steal from another person. She'd never again have to pretend attraction to drunk men.

But this wasn't hers, she realized with a start, and the feeling was so reminiscent of what had driven her to go back to Paris that she momentarily lost count of the money in her hands. She'd found stability – _thought _she had found it before that too had turned out to be a lie. But this was her angel. This was the man who needed her as much as she needed him to be around. He wouldn't just leave her like that; he, of all people, wouldn't forsake her.

Erik barely gave Christine a second glance as she counted the money. His attention instead was completely on the other things Raoul had packed for him. He approached the bed, pulling a shirt away to see a pair of trousers and another shirt beneath it. He reached past them to grab the sheets of papers that had been bent in Christine's haste. Rifling through them, he recognized what they were immediately. His designs, his drawings. The ones he favoured above the others he'd drawn, and he was certain that was just a coincidence. There was a tightening in his throat that made it hard to breathe, but Erik quickly labeled the emotion anger before trying to suppress it.

Christine whispered out a number and he glanced up at her. The number seemed too convenient.

"How long were you gone?" Erik mumbled more to himself than to Christine.

"What?" Christine was immediately defensive. She didn't like the sudden question.

At her voice, he realized that she really could just answer him. There was no more wondering where she was as he'd done in the past. She was _here_. "Just tell me," Erik ordered, his voice leaving no question as to whether Christine should answer or not.

It was a credit to her experiences that Christine didn't cower. Instead, she took a deep breath and mentally counted the weeks and days. What felt like a lifetime was really just about three months. She told him as much.

This time the feeling that surged up within him _was_ undeniably anger. Erik had been paid for the time he'd spent at the Chagny estate.

Raoul had paid him his salary.

He knew he would have done something rash at that moment like fling the bed across the room and possibly break any furniture he could get his hands on. There on the bed though, peeking under a crumpled shirt was the edge of a book. His movements were carefully efficient, deliberate, as he reached forward to grab it. Picking it up, he turned it over in his hands. Victor Hugo. His grasp tightened on the book.

He looked up to see Christine looking at him oddly.

"Go to sleep." He swept everything back into the case so that the bed would be clear; the book, he kept in his hand. "We're leaving early in the morning."

He almost expected for her to argue, but she regarded him for one moment longer before slipping beneath the sheets of the bed. He placed the case at the foot of the bed before blowing out the candles in the room.

Christine didn't feel like arguing. She did wonder about the case and its contents. The opera ghost had looked like he'd been surprised by the items within it. Actually, it was difficult to call it surprise when he had barely reacted at all. For all she knew, he'd been surprised she'd gone through his belongings without asking, but she was almost certain that it had been the first time the ghost had seen the money on the bed and the collection of sheets and clothes that had been strewn. Knowing she wouldn't know unless she asked him directly, she allowed those thoughts settle. The bed was better than a carriage, and sleep was so tempting after everything that had happened. For the first time in a while, she felt marginally safe in this inn. She almost felt secure in her future as well.

Erik had settled on the floor by the door. He didn't trust this place, had almost forgotten what it was like to not trust the people outside of the room. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep any time soon, not when they were so vulnerable in this place but not only this place, everywhere. No place was safe – except… his mind provided, but he refused to finish that thought.

There was only one window and one door in this room. Two entrances weren't that difficult to cover. From his place on the floor, he could watch if anyone tried to climb up to the window, which was unfortunately quite easy to do, and still prevent anyone from entering through the door. However, two entrances also meant that there were only two exits, two means of escape. He didn't like this place, and he was shocked to find the unease so unfamiliar that he almost didn't know how to deal with it. That was absurd though. He'd lived his life having to be wary of the places he stayed.

Tilting his head back, he stared at the ceiling. Christine hadn't offered the bed. He wouldn't have accepted anyway, but… he didn't quite know what to expect. Christine had said she loved him, and of course that didn't mean she would immediately invite him to share the bed. He had expected something else though; maybe something _more _between them. Of all the things that had changed in the past twenty four hours, nothing between _them _seemed to have.

He was tempted to light a candle to read the book in his hands to distract himself from his own thoughts but decided against it. The book only reminded him of Raoul, and those were thoughts that would only serve to frustrate him further. Clothes, his work, money, and this book. Erik was at turns angry and disappointed, and the latter emotion only made him angrier.

It was morning before Erik realized he'd spent the entire night glaring at the ceiling, remembering a different room, a different breath – the slight snore and rustling of the blanket – and when he let his mind drift, he could remember those nights when Raoul's leg had draped over the edge of the bed; dangling nearby, he'd always been tempted to yank him off the bed completely. He could clearly picture the look of shock and indignation that the blond would have for being woken up in such a manner.

Erik woke Christine before the sun had properly risen and handed her some money before slipping out through the window. They didn't speak to each other, didn't talk about where they were going to go, didn't talk about breakfast or even say a 'good morning,' words that Erik could hear in his head spoken by a tenor voice still half laden with sleep yet somehow still full of excitement for the new day. No. They barely made eye contact even when they entered a hired carriage and left that town without a second look back.

Strangers. They were no better than strangers sharing the carriage, and everything was so wrong. Yet, Erik didn't have the energy to try to change that fact. Christine herself didn't know how to break the silence, didn't know how to broach Erik's attitude. It wasn't as though he was being belligerent or even aloof; he was simply silent, even acknowledging her presence. He was just there. What _could _she say in response to that? He'd always been silent, always ignored her at times, and she'd known when she made her decision to choose the ghost that it wouldn't be easy to get used to being around each other. So, she just waited to see how things would progress.

o.o.o

Raoul had been right.

Letting Erik die in his mind had made life bearable again. Admittedly, he'd been more than a little depressed the past two days. He'd barely gotten any work done and spent most of his time outside in the grove in his tree, staring down and wondering what they might have been talking about today, but he'd also finally finished moving Erik's things. Not in boxes, he couldn't bear the thought of giving them away or burning them. Instead, he'd moved everything into the extra room. It had been cluttered for a while since that had been where he'd slept.

He was done with all that now. He'd finished cleaning and putting everything in order. His mind even felt a little clearer, ordered. The ache he felt was present but not as pronounced; his world had stopped contracting to just that moment.

Stalking into his room, he grabbed the sheets, the blankets, the pillow cases on the bed. They'd been exactly as he'd last left them. Yanking them off, he strode downstairs purposefully towards the sitting room. Tossing a log into the fireplace, Raoul set to starting the fire. He grabbed a knife he'd brought just for this occasion and began stripping all beddings before shoving everything into the fireplace, watching to make sure the fire wouldn't spread. The heat was almost unbearable considering the heat outside, but he stayed directly in front of the fire remembering how he'd once yelled at Erik for destroying Christine's things.

He was done mourning. He couldn't do it anymore because it hurt too much to think of what could have been every second of the day. What could have been was no more and he could only hope to appreciate the moments he'd experienced with Erik. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

He'd already closed the door between their rooms, and it felt like closing a bit of himself off as well. He could open that part of his mind, open that door to the room to look through his things, but maybe another day. Not today. Erik wouldn't want him to linger. He'd want him to move on.

"Vicomte?"

Raoul turned away from the fire to look at his butler. Everyone had been rather supportive, not commenting about his attitude, and he'd begun to recognize the small things they'd done for him, still did for him without his asking. He recognized that he wasn't really alone, not when these people actually worried about him. He wasn't about to let them down. He wasn't going to let himself down either.

"Your dinner jacket," the man said, holding it out towards him.

Raoul smiled, a ghost of what it had once been. "Thank you."

"Are you certain…?" The butler started walking with Raoul towards the door.

Slipping on the jacket, Raoul gave a breathy laugh. No he wasn't certain, but he was going to go out and have a lovely meal with some Comte's daughter. He was going to show her a lovely night and not think about the possibilities of a life that had died.

The door opened to reveal his driver standing there looking rather displeased and trying to hide it. Raoul gave a small smile in recognition for what he was feeling. He paused at the door.

"I don't know when I shall return."

"I will be up regardless," His butler replied.

Raoul nodded, allowing the comfort of knowing someone _would _wait seep through him. He also knew that he was just hesitating. He _had_ to do this; it was the next step, finding someone else. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he left.

o.o.o

She wasn't quite sure what it was, a mix of travelling, hunger, discomfort, and curiosity maybe, but sometime the muggy afternoon, Christine had had enough of the silence. Something was wrong, and Christine was going to find out what it was because at the rate things were progressing, she'd be losing another dream. Another man would have used her and left her in the end. She refused to let that happened without having a say in the matter.

She turned her attention away from the window of their carriage to stare at Erik and the book that had not left his hands since its discovery. "You didn't pack that case. Did you?"

The opera ghost didn't respond. She hadn't really expected him to, but she was not going to accept silence anymore.

"Answer me."

He lifted his head up deliberately, and she was a little frightened. Ever since last night, that's all she could say about his actions. Deliberate. As though if he wasn't controlling himself completely people would be injured, and a carriage with just the two of them were not odds she liked.

She refused to allow fear to stop her. "What happened at Raoul's estate?"

"Raoul?" He growled low in his throat.

That one word was filled with so much hatred, Christine actually stopped the next question she was about to ask him. She shivered at the sound. Did the ghost still hate him that much?

Erik couldn't believe Christine dared to address the blonde so informally. Hearing her utter Raoul's name so easily made him tense in his seat. He didn't want to ever hear her say his name. She didn't deserve that right. Not after everything that had happened.

When the opera ghost didn't react any other way, Christine pressed, "Where did the money come from? He gave you that case, didn't he?"

"What happened at the inn, Christine?" Erik asked evenly. He never had the intention to bring it up again because he found that he really _didn't _care what she'd been doing, but she was pushing him to do so. She had no right to ask about his business and least of all his business with Raoul. She'd given up any claim on the blonde she might've had in the past.

"I…" she faltered.

"What was it about that man?" Erik continued ruthlessly, "How did you manage to survive by yourself with no money whatsoever? What…?"

"What were _you _doing with Raoul?" Christine yelled. She hadn't known what else to say.

Silence ensued. Christine was left breathing heavily from shock and resentment. He'd jumped to conclusions and she hated the fact that he might've jumped to the right conclusions. Erik simply turned his attention back to the book in his hands, trying to ignore the fact that she had once again said _his _name.

They continued to travel together in that silence, neither quite ready to separate though the seed of doubt had already been planted in Christine's hope for their future. She wasn't ready to give up on them yet. They just needed to travel a little further, away from their past; things would _have_ to get better.

Two days after discovering the book, Erik finally gave in to the urge and began reading it. It only took the third sleepless night in a row he'd had to finish it.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 21

Word count: 4,383

o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: I feel really bad for Christine for having such a screwed up experience and then forcing herself to learn from such an experience.


	22. to want

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: I don't usually do this anymore, but I felt that after so many chapters, I might as well. Thanks to the anon'd reviewers who I never get to reply to: Andi, Zee, Liz (btw, I only update the calendar, after I post a story since I haven't been able to keep up with my schedules), SlashmasterAeoniX, Marika, Wolfy, and anyone else I missed (I only went back in the review pages to like page 4).

Story Note: In regards to the first portion of this chapter – yes, I know that's not what the point of the novel was, so just bear with me. Erik can interpret it whatever way he wants.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 22 - … to want

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

They were in yet another carriage, in another day of travel, another day of silence. After that outburst, that quick argument that had arisen and died in mere heartbeats, they barely looked at each other much less shared a single word with each other since then. Erik didn't bother tracking their distance or speed anymore. He merely stared at the book in his hands as the storyline ran through his head.

L'Homme Qui Rit.

It was impossible not to assign them roles, impossible not to see himself as Gwynplaine: abandoned at a young age to be left to die; travelling with a carnival; the deformity – though he had been born with his, not given; a false name to live by, Gwynplaine-Opera Ghost while his real name was left unused, something to be discarded as unimportant in the end. His deformity was not a smile though. His didn't garner laughs, just screams.

Dea was of course Christine and yet, it didn't fit, not quite. He had found this young child and had helped raise her. He'd been a guardian, though under the guise of an angel. He'd watched her grow into a beautiful woman. Yet, she was not blind, least of all to his deformity. She had shied away from him, feared him, and ran from him. At the opera house, she might have been considered frail but instead of waiting for him, she had sought out the Vicomte. Now, she was anything but frail. Still, through it all, she claimed to love him. She loved him – even though they had simply been words, words that had yet to be repeated nor revealed through action.

And though he needn't do so, he struggled to give Raoul a role in this story. Who was the Vicomte? The most obvious answer would be the other lords, but while they had been at odds with each other, Raoul had never laughed at him. He'd never mocked his deformity. No, Raoul could not be them. He was far from those men who knew nothing of who he was, who knew nothing of compassion. They never would have saved his life, admit defeat, and share their days with him.

Erik sneered.

It didn't matter who was who. It was simply a story, a fantastical story whose message was quite clear to him. The only way a deformed man could find love was with a blind lover, and even then, he could never be happy. Never.

He touched his mask. It had already stopped bothering him, and it had only been a week since they'd left. Perhaps he had adapted because of his unease with travelling or maybe it was simply the company.

Glancing at Christine, he mused that perhaps if she'd been blind they might have stood even the slightest of chances together. He shook his head. That thought sounded like he'd already given up on them. He wondered if they _were _doomed to failure, if they would simply be driven to mutual destruction – if he even wanted to wait and see if they did.

No. He wanted to stay with Christine; she was his Dea. He was simply tired, not thinking correctly. He'd barely managed to catch a few hours of sleep when they were travelling while each night between had remained sleepless. It was simply fatigue that made him think that.

o.o.o

Raoul woke up the next morning feeling rather rested. Forgetting himself, he stretched and said 'good morning' towards the now closed door. When he didn't hear a response or the rustling of sheets, he woke up a little faster. The door was closed for a reason; there was no longer anyone to say good morning to. Realizing his mistake, Raoul could do nothing but sit on his bed and stare at the door that stood between him and his memories. His throat constricted, and he couldn't control the shakiness as he exhaled. His hands clenched in the sheets.

He'd been rather good about that the past few days. He'd been good about not speaking to empty space, a space that had once been filled. There was no way he could say he'd managed to put Erik out of his mind because everything he did still reminded him of the other man, but he liked to think that he was getting better. He only counted the days they had been parted in his head, keeping it there simply for reference.

He sighed once more before mentally shaking off his melancholy. His slip was probably only indicative of how good a time he'd had the last few nights.

Raoul hadn't been expecting much of anything from the woman he'd entertained those nights before and had been rather surprised when dinner had turned out rather well. The conversation wasn't half as interesting as the ones he'd had with Erik. They didn't talk about business, didn't talk about music, didn't even go near subjects that he and Erik used to speak at length about, but it was better that way. She was not very witty or snide, and if he had to judge, which he hadn't at the time, she was merely average in looks, though beautiful in her own way.

She was rather meek, the third child of four daughters and averse to being too forceful. Her head was often bowed and her glances at him a little wide-eyed and confused, as though she couldn't understand why he was having dinner with her, why he had invited her out several times already.

Admittedly, she was a bit boring, but he liked it that way. He could appreciate the distraction, a different pace, a completely different type of person. He couldn't say that he was at ease with her just yet because he had to constantly watch what he said after that first scandalized look she had given him when he'd told her he often travelled alone on his horse and not in some carriage or after he'd suggested a different style of wearing her hair. It wasn't his fault that it had started to annoy him that it kept falling in front of her face or how she kept tugging at a loose curl by her ear. But still, she was nice.

The other women his peers had suggested him to meet were simply too much. Their personalities were so strong that he was reminded of… people he would rather not remember. They wanted things from him that he couldn't give them. So, he'd stayed with this third child of four. She was the perfect excuse to leave the estate without having to worry about things progressing too fast.

He didn't want to spend a moment longer on the estate than he had to. He ate breakfast, quickly finished work, and then left for a morning ride before finding solace in just being in the city, being around people who barely cast him a second glance. It was almost like not existing, not having to worry about who he was and what had happened to him in the past. He just walked until it was time to have dinner, until it was time to go out with her and then he was the Vicomte de Chagny again. He was someone confident and charming.

Raoul wasn't sure, but she might be exactly what he wanted at the moment. To want any more would be asking for too much.

She was the anti-thesis of Erik.

And, he was going to see her again this afternoon.

o.o.o

The further and further they traveled away from Paris, the more at ease Christine became even though her relationship with the opera ghost had yet to improve. There was the strained silence, but Christine liked to think that it was _less _strained than before. It wasn't as though the ghost looked mad. He simply looked contemplative nowadays. He didn't comment when she used some of his money to buy food or new clothes or even just a better room to sleep in at night. In fact, he didn't say anything at all though she did see him cast glances at her every now and then. She wondered if he was simply unsure of how to begin. She certainly didn't know how.

A short while after their argument, after the accusations had flown, she had realized that she didn't even know his name. He'd only ever been angel or phantom. He was the opera ghost even without the opera house. Yet, it didn't seem odd to her, a mere inconvenience. What was in a name any way? However, it brought up the fact that she didn't know very much about the man at all. She had heard about his past – who hadn't heard the rumours? But, she'd never asked him directly. However, the ghost had chosen to go with her; he wanted her and that was all that mattered. She let herself think of other things instead, more important things.

She had decided that they would go to Italy. They would of course travel a bit more just to see the world and visit new cities like some sort of an extended vacation. Soon though, she'd redirect them, plan a route to Italy and settle near an opera house so that she could sing again. The stage was calling her and she desperately wanted to stand upon it once more. It would be perfect.

So far, they were still in the part of the plan that required them to travel as far away from Paris and their old life as possible. They were making headway. As for the rest of the plan, she wasn't quite sure if it would go well or not. She didn't know if the ghost was indeed going to stay with her all the way to Italy, but he already had an inkling of her secret and had yet to leave her. That was a good sign. She would eventually have to somehow bridge the gap between them in order to ensure he _would_ remain with her. She just didn't know how yet to do so.

She did know one fact though. One thing had always proven effective in driving the ghost to her.

o.o.o

With each clop of the horses' hooves and squeak of the turning of the wheels, Erik could feel his mind turning as well, as though it were some antiquated contraption just barely moving forward, not quite able to function smoothly. And, he was at the precipice of some great understanding, some epiphany that he could barely see the edges of, feel the tendrils of it pulling him ever forward.

But no, it wasn't pulling him forward. It was tearing him apart, and the only thing his mind could do was run through L'Homme Qui Rit as it skirted the edges of the as of yet understood epiphany.

_Dea was fragile. She needed him, needed Gwynplaine. _

But Erik _was_ here. There was no need for her to worry for him, to pine after him.

_They travelled together. They started their journeys together and though they had separated, they were together once more. The beginning of some ultimate journey._

There was so much for Erik and Christine to accomplish together. He would want to hear her sing again of course. He would find a way to make it happen. It wouldn't be that difficult in a new opera house even without the secret passageways. People only saw what they wanted to see.

_Josiana was taking him away. _

Erik looked up in confusion, his eyes focusing on the boards in front of him, and abruptly, he was here. Every jerk of the carriage, scent, sight, and sound was so clear to him as though it was the first time realizing he was travelling. Away. He wondered where that errant thought had come from.

Josiana hadn't been assigned a role in his life's story. There was no one who was drawn to him in such a manner.

His eyes drifted to his carriage companion. She was his Dea; though another part of his mind retorted that she barely had anything in common with the heart of that character.

This was what they wanted though. He didn't even know why he had to defend his actions. This was what… _she_? _they?_ wanted, to leave Paris and start anew. Christine had already tried and apparently failed, and Erik, well, he turned to peer out the window. He had started anew himself and… had succeeded. He _had_.

And, for the first time in his life, Erik realized that he _did_ have a choice. Christine had always been his escape. She had always been the only other choice to a life of isolation. She'd been it.

Now, things were different. He had the whole world at his disposal, but that was not particularly true. It was possible for him to start over again anywhere in the world, but his face would still be a problem. The only person who didn't seem to care about his face was Christine. Well, Christine and…

Could Raoul even be considered a choice? Could he be an option even though with each passing second Erik was moving further and further away from him?

In his life, it had never really been about what Erik had wanted. It had always been about what was available to him, the lesser of two evils. For years it had been Christine and loneliness. Christine had been the exact person he'd needed, had wanted. He'd loved her because she'd taught him that there could be more. She'd given him hope and been everything that was good in his life for so many years. She'd been his everything. Had been. This was not the same situation though. He'd managed to find another companion, hadn't he? He had been comfortable at the Chagny estate.

But did Raoul even care to have him around? That was how it was supposed to be in life; you weren't supposed to question your place with someone, not if that's where you were supposed to be. In the opera house, he'd never questioned his place was to be with Christine, but now, he almost wanted to question it. Who was he to her? Did she really love him or did she love the fact that he wasn't those men that she'd run into? He should want to go out and seek those men out and kill them, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to care, and that was truly confusing. At first, he'd thought that it had simply been the past in general that he was trying very hard to ignore. On the contrary though, he wasn't the slightest bit curious. When they'd been in the opera house, there hadn't been a moment that Erik hadn't known about her day. He knew all her actions. He'd monitored her in every aspect of her life. This apathy towards her, the fact that she was here and he didn't care to look at her was a gross change of character. She was here, and he didn't care to hear her, didn't care to touch her, teach her, guide her.

She needed none of that now though. And, he didn't even want to give it to her. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts about what had happened at the Chagny estate that he simply hadn't realized it sooner. He'd been caught up in the fact that it was Christine.

And those wheels in his head were turning. He didn't know how but it was as though his life were changing in these thoughts, as though change could simply be contained in a single thought. That was impossible. Change occurred over time. Time like where he'd lived the past few months, his mind supplied.

Raoul certainly hadn't complained when they'd been living together. In fact, it had been the opposite; Raoul had seemed to enjoy his company. There hadn't been a need to seek him out because they'd simply been together at all times. But then again, Raoul hadn't fought when he'd said that he would be leaving. Apparently, he didn't mean much to have around if Raoul had so willingly let him go and then even go so far as to pay him money, as though his being at the estate had only been an effort on his part, a job. Erik didn't understand why that thought bothered him so much. He _had _only been there to ensure Raoul wouldn't chase after them. That estate had never been a destination; it had merely been a temporary stop so that he could get Christine. And that's where he was now, but he didn't understand why it simply wasn't right.

He didn't understand many things. Why was Raoul constantly the center of his thoughts? Raoul was about to say something else when they'd left. Raoul had packed exactly what he would have packed himself had he been given the time. Raoul wasn't like those lords from the novel. Raoul…

Christine.

He forced himself to focus on her. He had to stop thinking about Raoul. He _had _Christine, but the obvious question was what kind of life would they have together? He'd be forced back into the role of the phantom of the opera if Christine had her way. After all, that was the only person she really knew; it was the life that she knew and wanted. This was a woman who still called him 'Angel' and in all seriousness, as though he didn't need another name.

Was Opera Ghost, Angel, Phantom his Lord Fermain Clancharlie?

Cursing the novel, Erik now couldn't help but wonder if he was heading towards or away from Dea at the moment. Annoyed at himself, Erik forcibly ignored that thought. He had to at least try with Christine. Raoul was of no consequence.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 22

Word count: 2,968

o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Raoul's part made me sad. Poor boy.

Okay, so perhaps I shouldn't have used another book's plot to be integral to this portion of the story, but I vote that you visit Wikipedia because they have a page on it; just search L'Homme Qui Rit. However, if you don't want to, let's say this (a really bad summary of the story):

Deformed (more like mutilated) Gwynplaine (he always looks like he's smiling at all times) finds Dea (blind) when she was a baby; they travel with a carnival; (15 yrs later) Gwynplaine performs at the carnival and at one such performance, he attracts Duchess Josiana (who wants to do him), and it turns out Gwynplaine is the once thought dead heir and his name is Fermain, but when he tries to join the House of Lords, the other lords don't take him seriously (because of his face); meanwhile he leaves Dea who's been fragile all her life to pine after him (because she loves him); Gwynplaine denounces his title and returns to Dea. They depart and Dea tells her love for Gwynplaine then dies and then he kills himself.

Nutshell.


	23. to fight

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: This was supposed to be posted earlier this week, but that didn't happen.

Story Note: What can I say? The chapter title looks promising.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 23 - … to fight

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Christine used the rest of their day of travel to formulate a plan. She'd discarded many before eventually coming to the conclusion that she would once again have to lie. What was one lie among the others she was willing to say for their happiness? At least, that's what she told herself. It wasn't as though lying to the ghost had been an easy decision. It hadn't been in the beginning, and it wasn't now. But, she wanted to be happy. She needed to not only survive but be able to look at herself in the morning, to think of herself without feeling disgust, and without the opera house, she didn't know any other way.

Of all the people that she could count on, shouldn't the ghost be the first on that list? He'd offered her everything at one point. She could make him happy as well; she knew she could. It was who they were. The ghost wanted her and although Christine hadn't been able to understand how she could ever be happy with him, she could now. It would be perfect.

So perfect, yet she couldn't help but be worried about him abandoning her; because as much as she told herself that the silence between was natural, she couldn't deny that she was afraid. What if it weren't natural? She didn't know what she would do if he left her without any resources. Alone again. She _could _survive; that was some comfort, but she didn't want to go back to doing what she'd been doing before. And the ghost couldn't want to be left alone either.

As long as the result was beneficial to them both, what did anything else matter? It wasn't as though they'd have to return to France ever again, and the ghost didn't seem too adverse to the idea of leaving anyway.

She waited, her stomach unsettled the whole time, until they had obtained a room for the night. It was the same routine since they'd started their journey. The ghost would sleep on the floor near the door and she would sleep in the bed. She didn't bother to question it. After all, she hadn't been ready to have him in her bed, even though she knew that they'd eventually have to share more than just a bed if she were to live this life she had chosen. She didn't even want him to take off the mask. It wasn't as though she'd forgotten what he looked like; that would have been impossible. She even remembered how it felt beneath her hand when she'd kissed him. It made her shudder. She could get used to it, simply given more time.

Tonight, however, she would take her first step in that direction of becoming closer, becoming more familiar. There needed to be reciprocation in this relationship, and she would try to at least close one distance between them whether it was physical or mental; she'd do it the only way she could think to drive him to her.

What had always worked in the past, Raoul.

o.o.o

Raoul wondered why he kept returning home when it was easily becoming the last thing he wanted to do. The idea of leaving had been there when Christine had left him the first and then again the second time. However, he hadn't been able to leave that first time. Something in him had kept him on the estate, fear perhaps. He'd been afraid of finding Christine in some other city and seeing her happy, happier than she'd ever been with him. This time though, he _could _leave. Fear wasn't keeping him on the estate because he'd _left _already, albeit only to the city. He'd left his estate and it had been easy. In fact, it was becoming more tempting as the days compounded to simply leave the city entirely. He could finally see the ocean again, maybe chase ships like he used to as a child. He'd be able to relive happier times – a time before everything else had happened, before things got so complicated.

However, he found that although fear wasn't keeping him on the estate, perhaps hope did. He could wait a little longer before leaving. He could wait to see if his situation did become better, if another outing with that woman could make him forget what could have been. Maybe she'd be worth staying in Paris for, and that was what he was afraid it came down to, sentimentality. He was waiting for a reason to stay in Paris because this was where Erik had been. This was where his memories were, and even though he avoided the Opera Populaire at all costs, it was almost comforting knowing that Erik's home was nearby if he wanted to see it, just like that room in his house. Whenever he wanted to visit Erik, he could.

But, no. That couldn't be it. He wanted to move on.

Sometimes, he would still see the disapproving looks from some of his servants when they knew who he was going to meet, and it hurt. Not because they were remotely malicious but because he would be reminded of whom they _had_ actually approved. He hadn't really thought much about it before, when Erik had been alive. They hadn't mistreated him. They hadn't antagonized him for his face, for his crimes, for his constant presence by Raoul. They had welcomed him and simply because Raoul had asked them to. It probably helped that Erik was a bit intimidating, moreso that he'd managed to help him after Christine had left.

It wasn't as though they had been pretending with their kindness either; Raoul was certain he would have been able to tell, especially after how they'd been acting lately and comparing to their behaviour between Erik and Christine. It was obvious, now. It would have been humorous if it weren't so depressing. If he didn't know better, he would have gone to his servants for advice of what to do with his life now, but Raoul knew they didn't understand. They didn't understand that Erik was gone and he was supposed to move on.

o.o.o

Christine sat on the edge of the bed watching as Erik stalked the room. He checked the window before securing the door, but before he could blow out the candle and settle down to sleep, she stood up. It was enough to get his attention.

"Angel," she said regardless.

Erik clenched his jaw at the name and exhaled slowly. It didn't help. "Yes, Christine," he said through clenched teeth.

"Would you like to join me on the bed tonight?"

Staring at her in disbelief, Erik shook his head slowly. "It would be best if we did not." He didn't really have to think about that response. As much as he was willing to work on their relationship, he wasn't about to start with sleeping with her, especially when she kept calling him 'Angel.' He could remember what it felt like to have her arm clinging onto him, and he still hadn't been able to explain why his body recoiled at such a touch. It was what he wanted. Sleeping in the same bed would simply confuse him further, he was certain.

"I want," Christine walked towards him. "I want us to become closer."

Unmoved by the statement, Erik considered this an opportunity to tell her his name, to tell her that he really was no angel and that she _knew_ that. She'd seen him, spoke with him, and fought with him. She knew he was man, had called him a monster; yet, she still persisted with this attitude when it was obviously all an act. This was the Christine he had seen those months ago before she'd hit him over the head with a lamp. It was a Christine he really didn't know and hadn't fallen in love with, but he was willing to learn more because she was still _Christine. _"Then, let us speak."

Glancing at his mask, Christine took a deep breath. She reached forward to place her hands on his chest, staring at the point of contact. He simply glanced down at her hands before focusing on her face again. Not getting the reaction she'd rather expected, she stepped back to put some distance between them.

She started, "It was a mistake."

Erik took a step back as well. He kept his expression neutral. If she really wanted to talk, she would look him in the eyes, and so far, she'd looked everywhere but, her hands, the floor, the bed, his mask, everywhere but his eyes.

"Raoul," she noted him tensing and was a little relieved that she'd been correct about his reaction to her ex-fiancé, "had never meant anything. He never treated me well."

This time, Erik was the one who looked away. Didn't she realize by now that he'd seen through that lie? He would see through any lie she said about Raoul. Didn't she remember that he'd been there to see how she'd treated the boy? What Raoul had done for her? But, he didn't stop her from speaking.

"He didn't, well," and this was where Christine knew she'd be crossing the line. This was the point of no return for her and she didn't hesitate. She refused to, not when it could possibly bind the ghost to her, "when I came to find you, he tried to kiss me. I told him no, but he said that we were meant to be, told me that he would always love me, and that we could leave together. He said that I was to stay in his bed before speaking ill of you."

Every word that Christine spoke drew his eyes away from the window he'd focused on during her first lie to her. He couldn't quite understand what she hoped to accomplish with this, couldn't quite understand _this _Christine. Not seeing any reason to let her continue lest he lose his temper, he stopped her. "Why do you need to lie?" And, he didn't understand because he was already here with her. He'd already made his choice.

"Lie, Angel?" Christine stared at him wide-eyed.

"Raoul wouldn't have done that," Erik stated simply.

"Raoul wouldn't have done that?" Christine repeated and stared at him in confusion. "Raoul?" Eyes darting to and away from him, she tried to comprehend his reaction. He was calm. He'd called him _Raoul_ with more familiarity than she thought possible. There was no venom in the word, no bitter hatred as she'd heard in the past, and the way he'd said that statement – Christine believed that he _did _know Raoul wouldn't have done what she'd said. There was absolutely no doubt in his voice and when she looked, nor in his expression. He knew she was lying.

Slowly, trying to understand how such a thing could happen, she said to herself, "You _don't _hate him."

Erik couldn't help the reflexive response to defend his dislike of Raoul, "What are you talking about Christine?" It was a dislike that he was loathe to admit had lessened considerably. He could really only feel pity for him. Pity, that was all.

It wasn't that the ghost simply didn't hate him. Christine thought back to everything that had happened after her arrival at the Chagny estate that week ago. The ghost had gone to the bedroom and had been surprised to see her. Or at least, she thought he'd been surprised; after all, his first statement had been to ask where Raoul had been. He'd been expecting _Raoul _in the bed, and Raoul had specifically sent her there.

"Just what were _you _doing when I was away?" Christine stared at him, and Erik was annoyed, realizing that she could easily look him in the eyes but only when she was accusing him of something, only when she was angry. "Why did Raoul pack your luggage? Better yet, why did he even have your things?" Christine pressed. Still, the ghost didn't react. The ghost and Raoul. They must have had an argument of some sort for the way they'd been acting, she concluded.

Erik retorted, not quite calm though not seeing a reason to lose his temper just yet, "I was making sure he wouldn't follow us."

She laughed harshly. "I'm sure."

"What?" Erik couldn't understand why Christine was misunderstanding the situation. He'd been at the Chagny estate solely for her, for them so that they could leave Paris unhindered. His plan had succeeded. Of course, he couldn't deny that Raoul had been on his mind lately and often, but that was simply because he was angry with his reaction to his leaving. Raoul had been completely ungrateful. He would never have accepted his money. He'd been there because he'd wanted to be there, a place where he'd been able to be maskless, to work without fear of ballet rats or mobs, to experience a summer day outside… his thoughts were cut off as Christine continued.

"You were _living_ at his estate. Weren't you? You were with him while I was gone." It was suddenly clear to her. Raoul hadn't found the ghost for her; the ghost had simply been returning to the estate. The luggage had come from Raoul as well. It would explain why the ghost seemed so distant, why Raoul would stop them like he did, and why Raoul didn't fight back.

"You, he…" she didn't want to believe such a thing was possible. It was unnatural. Even Raoul must have realized it at the end, but if she were correct, she couldn't understand why the ghost had left with her in the first place. Maybe he understood it was unnatural as well. Maybe he had made his choice with her but was simply dwelling on the past; so, confidently, she asked, "You don't believe me? Angel," she challengingly looked at him and issued an ultimatum that would hopefully wake the ghost up from whatever temporary mental ailment he'd been experiencing, "it's either him or me. That's all it comes down to."

o.o.o

Raoul told himself that he was ready to take the next step. Though it had taken awhile to muster up the courage to do so, he had finally invited his now frequent lady companion to a date on his estate. It was the first time since Christine and Erik that someone else had been invited to his house. Although technically, Erik hadn't been invited; he'd been unconscious and in need of medical aid. He hadn't even wanted to be there.

Much like how he could tell that his date wanted to leave now as well.

Everything had started out pleasant enough. It was late afternoon when she'd arrived in a carriage, looking rather impressed. They'd gone to the sitting room where there had been a wide variety of beverages and snacks – Raoul still didn't quite know what she liked – waiting for them. They talked at length about the weather, and Raoul had never known a conversation could last that long about humidity and heat. When Raoul hadn't been able to stand another second of talk of the weather differences between Paris, cities she'd only ever heard of from friends, and the countryside, Raoul had offered a tour of his estate. He'd been more than a little relieved when she had agreed.

As he glanced at her now, he had a feeling that she hadn't thought a tour of his estate had meant a walk around through the lawn to his stables and the wooded area. In retrospect, he should have left the stable out of the tour. For a woman who travelled by carriage a lot, she held a lot of contempt for horses. He was certain the smell hadn't helped any. The way she wrinkled her nose and cast contemptuous glances at Raoul's favorite horses was far from ladylike or even polite; so, Raoul had hurried his steps and glossed over the rest of what he'd been about to say just to leave the stable.

She'd turned to walk back towards the main house when Raoul stopped her.

"I was about to show you the rest of the estate," Raoul said, offering his arm.

She looked from his arm to the line of trees in the distance. "What else do you have here?" Under her breath, she muttered, "A pig pen perhaps."

Raoul ignored the last statement since she'd done very little to actually make certain he hadn't heard her. She was simply irate; he could understand that. He said pleasantly, "There's the lawn and the trees, and there's this nice grove…" The word caught in his throat and he forgot everything that was about to say, his mind trapped in that one place that he'd blocked out of his thoughts. He tugged at the front of his shirt, his breathing suddenly difficult against the light pressure.

She looked at him oddly for a second before shaking her head. Seeming to remember herself, she replied, "Perhaps next time we could simply take a walk through the city. I rather like the cobblestones and city streets over" she frowned at the grass "such a _quiet_ area as this."

When Raoul could finally think again, he made a mental note. As much as she could talk about the weather in the countryside, she did not like it. She preferred the city; Raoul couldn't fault her for that. Some people were simply fond of the city life. He nodded with a smile and she finally relaxed, as though she'd thought Raoul would drag her through the estate regardless of her opinion. As they approached the main building, Raoul motioned for her carriage. He escorted her into it with a mention that perhaps next time they would take that walk through the city. He only waited long enough to see that the carriage was actually leaving.

Without knowing why, Raoul found himself wandering through his estate. It really couldn't be considered wandering though. He knew where he was going to end; he knew where his feet were taking him. Slowly approaching the grove, he knew exactly why he'd avoided this place, why he'd avoided the Opera Populaire, avoided entering the room adjacent to his, avoided his estate completely. It was the same reason why he couldn't leave. The memories.

It was torture to stay here. Torture, yet he found himself walking towards their tree. He drew his fingers lightly across the bark, focusing on the sensation itself. Bowing his head, he let out a shuddered breath. He wanted to cry. He was almost certain that if he could just cry, he'd feel better, but after those first few days, all his tears had been shed.

Raoul jumped the distance to grab the lowest branch of the tree. He was a little out of practice, but he managed to pull himself up. This tree in particular was one of the larger trees that he was able to climb. The branch he sat upon was almost one and a half times as high as he was tall. It had taken a lot of time with Erik watching him futilely try to jump high enough to grab the branch and be able to pull himself up. He could clearly remember Erik's amusement the times he'd just hung there, refusing to admit that he couldn't pull himself up. He could clearly remember Erik sitting beneath the tree reading or simply staring out into the grove as they spoke about anything that came to Raoul's mind at the moment. He could remember it all as though Erik were still there with him.

Holding onto the trunk of the tree, Raoul stood up a little shakily onto the branch. The next branch that would hold his weight was about waist height, but almost on the other side of the tree. He wrapped himself around the trunk to reach it, focused completely on the task before turning towards the next branch that he could reach. Higher and higher Raoul climbed. He needed to get as far away from the base of the tree, needed to do something because he couldn't scream or cry and the pressure was still building up within him. It lessened just the slightest whenever he reached for that next branch, when his foot slipped and he barely grabbed the branch in time to stop his descent, when he could hardly breathe from the struggle against gravity, against the pull that tried to drag him back to the past.

He climbed until the tree began to sway from his weight, until there were no more branches that would hold his weight. He hadn't reached the top, but he was close enough to see it. He was close enough that the air felt cooler here, lighter, freer. He hugged the tree trunk even though it scratched his cheek and tried to slow his breathing. His heart was beating rapidly, pulsing strongly against his ribs. He was sweating, and the meager wind was doing its job to cool him. The sun had a few more hours left but nearing the evening, it wasn't as oppressive as it had been as of late.

Up that high, Raoul could see the tops of the other trees in the grove. He could see his house. Home? He could see the place that had once been home, and he realized it then that it would always hurt to be here, the Chagny estate, Paris. He realized that he didn't know what he was doing anymore. He didn't know what was right, what he was supposed to do. Stay here or leave? See others or forsake them all for not being Erik? Be sad or fake being happy?

If he left, he'd be losing a part of himself. He cursed and laughed though it sounded more like a sob; it felt more like a sob. He'd _already_ lost a part of himself; it had died.

Suddenly, he needed to feel the ground beneath his feet. He was certain that he would feel less lost on the ground than up in the tree.

The way down was more difficult than he thought possible, his reach always just barely making the lower branch. He was forced to hug the tree trunk several times and slide down towards the nearest branch. His face and hands were bleeding, and his clothes dirtied if not completely ruined. It didn't slow him down though. He _needed _to be on the ground before the emptiness that was within him ate him away completely, before he vanished.

As he reached the last branch before he reached the ground, Raoul heard his name. He paused and closed his eyes, a sudden bout of dizziness hitting him. He swayed where he stood and steadied himself on the tree trunk. He knew that voice, the familiar tone of anger and incredulousness that was used whenever Raoul had done something that was deemed foolish.

"What do you think you're doing?" Erik yelled.

Afraid, Raoul peered down. Sure enough, Erik stood there staring at him – more like glaring at him.

"You're bleeding." Erik's eyes scrutinized every inch of the blonde that he could see. Raoul's hair was in complete disarray. His cheeks were scratched, tiny rivulets of blood making their way down towards his throat. His shirt was torn in several places and Erik could almost swear that the sleeves were tinged in red as well. Raoul's pants hadn't come out unscathed either. He was a mess of torn clothes, blood, and leaves.

Erik had arrived at the Chagny estate in time to see a strange carriage with a woman sitting primly inside it leave the estate. He'd narrowed his eyes at her, memorizing exactly what she looked like. He was tired, but having arrived at his destination and with that rush of anger at seeing that woman, Erik found enough energy to race towards the main building only to be told by rather surprised staff that Raoul was outside.

He'd reached the tree to see Raoul doing a rather careless job of climbing down from a perilously high distance up their tree. His heart felt as though it had lodged its way into his throat as he mutely watched Raoul cling and slip down the tree. He clearly remembered his last thoughts of Raoul as he'd left with Christine.

Ignoring the tightening in his chest, Erik chose to focus on wondering how reckless the boy was to climb a tree that high. Did he want to die?

Erik yelled again not even caring that Raoul wasn't answering, "Why would you even climb the tree that high? The only thing you can do there is fall to the ground."

Raoul shook his head, not believing his eyes. No. It couldn't be. Erik was dead. Raoul felt a little nauseous. Erik was dead. Forgetting himself, he took a step backwards in obvious denial of what he was seeing.

Erik saw the motion and his heart skipped a beat.

_Dea died in the novel._

Quickly stepping forward, Erik placed himself directly in Raoul's path towards the ground as the blonde windmilled and tried to grab the tree trunk again. Raoul flailed with a yell and could do nothing but hold his breath and wait to hit the floor. Instead of hitting the floor though, arms caught him. His body jerked to a stop before Erik's legs gave out beneath him and they continued their journey to the ground. Raoul fell out of Erik's hold a few feet away.

Ignoring the aches that were blooming all over his body, Erik pushed himself up onto his knees to better see how Raoul fared.

Raoul moaned, but remembering himself, he scrambled to move further away from Erik. His back hit the tree he'd fallen out of. He squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again. Erik was still in front of him. He stuttered. "Who…? How…?" His breaths became shorter.

"Raoul?" Erik really looked at Raoul this time. He didn't seem injured from the fall, but with his current state, Erik wasn't quite certain he'd be able to differentiate injuries from the climb down versus the fall. He wanted to be angry with him. He knew he should be because Raoul had literally just stepped off the branch, but he was more confused than anything at the moment. Of all the receptions he'd considered upon returning to the Changy estate, and he'd been certain he was prepared for anything in the four day non-stop journey he'd made, this was not one of them.

Then again, Raoul never ceased to surprise him.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 23

Word count: 4,434

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o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Oh hell. I just gave you another reason to hate Christine. That was unintentional. It just happened.

We don't exactly know what Erik's motives are for returning, but considering Christine's ultimatum, I can't help but see this as a good thing, right? Hell, Erik's back!


	24. to run

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: I'm starting to doubt that I'm going to make it to my before July 4th deadline in finishing this. I think there are going to be 28 chapters total. I guess that means I'm just going to have to overlap them. :( Looking at the previous chapter, it seems I have a thing with semi-colons right now. I figure they're better than run-on sentences (though I think I saw several of those as well).

Story Note: Erik is back! But this is a not-so-promising chapter title, but there is some poetic justice in here.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 24 - … to run

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik nearly bristled at her ultimatum; she had no right to demand anything of him. _No one_ was allowed to dictate what he chose to do with his life, not anymore. He was no longer caged nor helpless against coercion. It wasn't difficult to see the manipulation in her words. Her or Raoul? He would've lost his temper at such impudence if he hadn't been intrigued by the choice she was forcing upon him.

"Why would I need to pick between you and Raoul?" The answer seemed apparent to him.

"You _need_ to pick. We cannot continue like this." At Erik's steady gaze, she continued, "It's obvious you haven't been able to stop thinking about him. It's obvious that he meant something and still means something to you. So choose, already."

Erik kept his voice even, unsure of how she would react with her obvious growing agitation. His response was immediate though, "I've chosen you, Christine. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

"No," she yelled, her voice becoming shrill. She surprised herself by how much she wanted him to care, how much she expected it. That was one thing she could always count on, the ghost's love, his devotion. He knew what had happened to her and hadn't left; even in his silence, his presence had spoken volumes to her without her fully realizing it. She'd taken that silence to be acceptance, and even though she hadn't asked for it, hadn't wanted it, now that she knew it had simply been her imagination, she couldn't help but want it back. She'd been betrayed by her last resort, and he didn't even realize it. "No! You haven't chosen," she tried to make him understand that he was doing everything _but_ choosing her, "You can't say that you've chosen me when you've barely looked at me this whole time, barely spoken to me." Her voice grew louder with each word, "You can't say you've chosen me when you so obviously don't care."

When Christine finished, she was breathing harshly, chest heaving. She stared at Erik expectantly, hoping that he would be able to assuage her fears, hoping that he would prove this feeling of betrayal to be groundless.

Erik stared at her for long moments, his expression inscrutable. His mind ran through a multitude of thoughts, the most central being the feeling of déjà vu. It didn't take long for him to remember where he'd heard those words before. It felt like lifetimes ago, but it was easy to remember. And when he did, he was almost glad that he had been preoccupied as of late because it had brought them to this point. It was his negligence that had pushed _Christine_ to this point, as familiar as it was. He couldn't help but feel a little vindicated on behalf of both Raoul and him. Christine was now the one ordering for a choice to be made.

_Choose_.

Raoul had been right about Christine and now, Christine was right about him. They hadn't chosen, not really; they'd simply existed alongside the obvious choice, the unquestioned one, the easy one. Erik had gone with Christine because she had once been the person he loved and cherished above all others, but that had been before the night of Don Juan Triumphant, before releasing her, before being found by Raoul. He'd gone with her because he never stopped to consider that she wouldn't be what he wanted.

But, she was questioning it now, and she was making him question his choice as well when he would have simply accepted that Christine was who he was meant to be with. Was Christine who he really was meant to be with?

She continued, unable to stand that silence. The silence itself was an answer. "And this hat." She grabbed it from the table he'd placed it upon, "This stupid fedora that you stare at constantly. God, why didn't I realize it? You stare at it like you want to stare at _Raoul,_ like you wish it were him."

Erik didn't do well with accusations, almost as well as he did with ultimatums. He took a threatening step towards her, unable to help himself. She stepped back in response. He scoffed and gave his own order, one he'd been wanting to say for a while, "Stop saying his name. You have no right." Instead of his voice rising, it dropped low.

"No right to what?" Christine took a tentative step forward, refusing to admit that he intimidated her as much as he did, "Call him by his name? I was his fiancé. You think _you_ have that right? You tried to kill him, even right before we left."

Erik stilled. She was right. He'd threatened Raoul before they left, but the blonde was the one who'd driven him to that point. Raoul was the only one who could make him react so violently and still survive. Raoul, just Raoul. And Erik realized that there were actually many exceptions he'd made for him. Erik had let his guard down, done more than that. He'd revealed himself physically in every possible way to that boy and had even found himself trusting him because Raoul had never once turned away or flinched. He'd even let Raoul see his designs and gave him his expertise in business. And, with everything that Erik offered, Raoul accepted them like precious gifts.

Unlike with his mask's presence, Erik could still distinctly feel Raoul's absence. It was the main thing that occupied his mind. He couldn't help but think of him; Erik had simply refused to admit that to himself, refused to dissect the what's and why's of what he was doing any longer.

Christine was his goal. It had all been for Christine… until it hadn't been.

He looked at her, really looked at her and wondered what had changed between them, what had changed with all of them. Despite their past and admittedly, their present, Erik knew that to him Raoul would now and always be _Raoul. _ "He's the one that told me to call him that. I have every right."

Angry and seeing a rather bleak future laid out in front of her of one inn room to the next, Christine glared at him. She bit her bottom lip and wanted him to feel the same pain that she felt at this moment. She said pointedly, "I never loved you. _Never_. I only wanted you for your talent."

"Josiana." The name was spat out before Erik even realized he'd thought it, much less voiced that particular thought. "Josiana," he repeated more to himself than to her, as though voicing it made it real, made it true.

"What?" Christine scoffed, displeased with his reaction. She wanted him to get angry, to feel something other than the detachment he'd shown throughout their travels, as though he'd been above feeling anything with her. "No 'lying Delilah'? No viper? Just Josiana. Who is that?"

"You," Erik said with conviction. The realization made his mind falter. "You aren't Dea."

Christine looked at him as though he'd gone mad.

Erik looked away from her. He hadn't gone mad; he'd simply realized the truth. His eyes quickly scanned the room. He strode past her, flinging the luggage open. He stared at the contents. Grabbing his designs, he tossed everything else at Christine's feet. He grabbed the fedora from her and made sure he had the book with him before once again focusing on Christine, who was staring at the money and clothes that were strewn across the floor in front of her.

"You want my talent?" Erik asked, "I've already given you it. I've given you everything I could." Indicating the items on the floor with a tilt of his head, he said, "You may have that as well." He reached the door and was about to leave when he stopped himself, "I wish you well." And, honestly, he wasn't even sure he meant it. Christine would be nothing more than an afterthought once he left the room. She'd been an afterthought this whole time without him realizing it. He'd come to understand that; because as much as he'd needed and wanted her in the past, he – no, _they_ had all changed. "And that choice between you and Raoul? You made it for me by asking, Christine."

o.o.o

Erik had stolen a horse and travelled day and night to return to the Chagny estate, cursing himself for having gotten so far without realizing that he shouldn't have left in the first place. He barely slept, but then again, he'd barely slept the past weeks as well. Even through his fatigue, he was spurred on by the fact that he had to return to his Dea. He needed to return to Raoul.

He thought about how Raoul would react to his return, but more than not, he tried not to think at all. He didn't think about what he would do once he arrived because then he'd start to question himself. He'd question the fact that he'd just left Christine alone, though not without resources. He would, however, be more likely to question who he was running towards instead of away from. He had no idea how Raoul felt or if it should even matter to him.

Erik knew one thing for certain about Raoul. He was Dea in the story. Raoul was Dea and even knowing that, Erik didn't know exactly what he felt towards him. He didn't know if that meant they were doomed from the very start, if Raoul even wanted him back and more importantly, if he even loved Raoul.

He knew that he missed the Chagny estate. He missed their bed, their room, their breakfasts… Erik almost laughed at himself. He missed _their_ life, maybe because it was a life he'd once dreamed of so long ago, maybe because he'd become comfortable. He'd stopped fearing for his life and stopped expecting the worse to happen at every moment of the day. It wasn't just that he'd stopped expecting it; he'd forgotten about that feeling entirely when he was with Raoul. He forgot that he was a monster, the devil's child. He forgot that he was less than human. Maybe it was because his life had stopped being just his. He'd never known anything other than being alone, even with Christine. If that meant that he loved Raoul as much as Gwynplaine loved Dea, then maybe he'd be willing to admit something like that. Maybe.

Seeing Raoul fall out of the tree – Erik fought the urge to roll his eyes – seeing Raoul _in the tree_ in the first place had made his heart stop. There Raoul had stood on a branch after nearly falling down the tree just to reach that point far more worse for wear than when Erik had left him. The blood, scratches, and bruises were plain to see. He'd forgotten his confusion and worries, and Erik had only known fear, fear for Raoul's safety, fear for their future. The only response to such overwhelming fear was anger, specifically anger at Raoul.

Now that they were both on the ground Erik was just beginning to think clearly again. Raoul had literally stepped off the branch. Admittedly, his presence was a surprise, but that was an overreaction.

Raoul hastily got to his feet, stared at him for a long moment before running towards the house.

Erik, who had taken a tentative step towards him, took a few seconds just processing the fact that Raoul was running away from him before he followed. Raoul was surprisingly fast and was up the stairs and in the spare room before Erik even reached the bottom of the stairs.

Leaning against the door, Raoul stared wide-eyed at the items in the room. The bed was exactly as he'd left it. The desk had been moved in here as well. There was barely any space to move around but everything was neat and in order. Not knowing what else to do, not really thinking about what he was doing, Raoul pushed a chair against the door that led to his bedroom, pushed the desk against the other door and scrambled over the bed, dropping to the ground to sit pressing his back against the farthest wall from the door. He couldn't see over the bed, couldn't see anything besides the linens and the wood frame.

He was cowering. He knew it, but Erik was dead. He was having a mental breakdown. Seeing ghosts. Something. Something very real but that only made it more frightening. How far gone was he? He'd thought that he was getting better.

The door from the hallway opened and slammed into the desk with a loud enough bang that Raoul flinched. He could hear some muttered curses before covering his ears with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. He'd been doing so well. He'd found someone to move on with, but she wasn't Erik. Raoul hated how that fact alone was enough to make him not care for her. Maybe that was why he was hallucinating now. She'd left him alone. Going to their grove had been a bad idea. The inner door opened next, strong enough that the chair was displaced. A very bad idea. Raoul pressed himself further against the wall.

"Raoul."

The voice was steady and sure, and Raoul was certain he was hallucinating now because he could almost swear Erik sounded concerned.

Erik looked around the room. Raoul had done some redecorating. He was a little surprised to see his belongings still present actually. The desk held the other drawings and designs he'd worked on before he'd left as though they were ready to be used again. The bed was made; the dresser, he was certain, would hold the rest of his clothes. Raoul should have burned all his things or given them away. Keeping them in a single room was… strange.

Running and hiding from him was even stranger. Erik hesitated where he stood. He was tired and now sore from having broken Raoul's fall. His heartbeat was not slowing and he wasn't certain whether it was from the scare of Raoul falling out of the tree or running across the Chagny estate. He wasn't pleased with either event.

If Raoul thought he didn't see him enter the room, then the blonde would be sorely disappointed to know he wasn't about to leave, but now that he was in the room, what was he going to do? Drag Raoul from his hiding place? Apparently, Raoul thought he was here under some other pretense. What pretense, Erik couldn't even begin to guess with that kind of reception to his arrival.

Raoul was just lucky that he hadn't been around to show himself when that woman had been with him. Maybe that was why Raoul was hiding from him. He thought Erik had come back to ruin his relationship. Even if that were true, it still didn't explain Raoul's reaction.

This would be the first time that Raoul had run and hidden from him, and Erik didn't like it one bit. He walked through the room almost afraid of what he would find. Reaching the bed, he paused. It was the last place that Raoul could possibly be. Huddled in the corner of the room – Raoul was possibly the last person in the world Erik would want to have that effect on. He didn't have the courage to visually verify that image though.

"Raoul," he called out again.

He still received no reply.

Seeing the chair, Erik dragged it towards the bed before sitting down. He'd wait for Raoul to come out himself. Whatever Raoul was trying to prove by hiding, Erik wasn't going to encourage it. He simply wouldn't. Raoul would eventually have to stand up and then they'd have a long talk. With this plan in mind, the tension in his muscles finally left. He slumped in the chair, and for the first time since he'd left, he felt at ease.

Before long, Erik was dragged into slumber through the combination of sleepless nights, hard travel, and finally being back home.

o.o.o

After long moments where Raoul had been certain that he'd actually heard Erik walking around the room, the noises died down. He'd sat, hugging his knees to his chest hands clasped over his ears though it did little to block out the sound. The chair moved again and it was silent once more.

He didn't know how long he waited barely allowing himself to breathe. It was long enough that his muscles started to cramp from him position. He only focused on breathing, on calming down. Then, he heard it. Erik's breathing.

_But Erik was dead._

Lowering his hands, the sound became louder. Raoul closed his eyes, just to hear it more clearly. And, yes. The steady rise and fall. The sound that had lulled him to sleep for weeks when they'd been together.

_Erik was dead._

The quiet sound that he'd been able to hear even a room away, the sound he'd trained himself to hear. Pressing his back against the wall, Raoul stood up on shaky legs.

_Erik was_…

… asleep on a chair in the middle of the room. His head was bowed, arms limply at his sides, and wearing clothes that had seen better days. He was also wearing the mask.

Looking around the room in confusion, Raoul turned his attention back at Erik and saw that he was still indeed there. Crawling over the bed cautiously, Raoul winced when it creaked under his weight. He froze; however, Erik didn't even respond, and that only made Raoul more suspicious. Erik would usually wake at the smallest of sounds. Slowly getting to his feet, Raoul approached the apparition. He frowned at the mask and before he could dissuade himself otherwise, he reached out and stroked the cold porcelain. There still was no reaction.

Feeling bolder and simply needing to be certain, Raoul took his mask off. Staring at the mask in his hands, he suddenly felt his eyes water. He remembered why it had been a bad idea to believe that Erik had died. Gritting his teeth, he let out a shaky breath. He tossed the mask on the bed. Erik was alive, but he'd chosen Christine over him. Erik had only been using him.

Raoul bit his bottom lip until it hurt, thankful for the slight distraction. It was enough to bring him back to this moment. Erik was back. His hand reached out. Gently, he skimmed his fingertips over the ridges of irregular skin near Erik's forehead, the smooth skin near the top of his head, and then through his hair. He was dirty, his hair tangled. Raoul let out a shaky laugh, willing his eyes to stop watering.

Erik didn't respond and Raoul remembered another time he'd been able to so freely explore Erik's face like this. Odd how it was only now that his heart beat this fast, that heat pooled in his belly, and that his chest ached to know that this man was his enemy. He might have even fallen in love with the ghost then. It had at least been the start of everything. The start of understanding Erik as more than a monster, more than a rival. The start of wanting change, wanting him to be happy.

He already knew exactly what the deformity felt like under his hand. He'd long since memorized it, but he still couldn't help himself. He traced the particularly deep trench in Erik's cheek, the skin rising up unnaturally, affecting the ghost's nose. He followed every ridge and dip from his skull to around his eyes. He reverently traced Erik's jaw and lips. It was only then that Erik reacted. Even then, it was only a soft sigh.

Raoul pulled his hand away, clenching it into a fist.

If only he'd realized it sooner. If only.

Taking a deep breath, Raoul suddenly felt calm. He knew exactly what he was supposed to do now. Daring because this was his last chance, Raoul bent forward and kissed Erik once on the cheek.

Moving with a purpose, Raoul opened Erik's dresser and pulled out a cloak, draping it over his shoulders. It was a little big, but Raoul didn't care. He glanced at the window. It was dark outside already. No one had come to find him for dinner, but he figured it was because they'd seen Erik return and knew to leave them alone. Raoul grinned before heading out. This was the right thing to do. He just hadn't realized it until this moment.

Before he closed the door behind him, Raoul spared one look back at Erik.

"Good-bye," he whispered.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 24

Word count: 3,457

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o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: Damn Erik. Why let exhaustion take over at this point? And what the hell is Raoul planning to do? D:


	25. to panic

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: I don't know why this was actually difficult for me to write. The story's in my head; it simply refuses to be written. D: But we're reaching the final stretch (that might be why; I always get a little weird when a fic's ending).

Story Note: It's a little awkward because I currently refuse to give any OCs names, downright refuse for some reason (if you didn't notice or else I would've given the _girl_ a name). So please bear with me that they're called gardener and butler and the like.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 25 - … to panic

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

The sound of a door slamming roused Erik from his sleep, jerking awake in the seat. Looking around the room in confusion, he briefly wondered if he'd simply imagined the sound. Moaning, he raised a hand to his face, confused when he realized he wasn't wearing his mask. It was lying on the bed. Erik stared at it suspiciously; he didn't remember taking it off. However, he also didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point.

Standing up, he stretched his neck and back. They were sore from his position on the chair. He yawned and shielded his eyes against the morning light. He hadn't slept that easily in a while – ever since he left Raoul, if he let himself think about details like that, but he didn't. If he'd fallen asleep, Raoul must have as well. He silently made his way across the room, endeavoring to not wake him before he wanted to. He leant over to look at the other side of the bed, and Raoul wasn't there.

Erik straightened and scanned the room once more. Nothing was out of place. The desk was still in front of the door and his papers on it. The dresser was closed; the chair where he'd left it. In fact, the only thing different from when he'd fallen asleep was his mask being on the bed.

Erik suddenly knew with frightening clarity that given the opportunity, Raoul would run from him again. He might climb another tree or do something just as foolish and dangerous. Erik forced himself to remain calm when his thoughts were battered with the fact that Raoul had nearly died yesterday. No one without some kind of death wish climbed a tree that high. Raoul hadn't even spoken a single word to him before running away.

Stopping that train of thought, he convinced himself that there had to be a logical explanation why Raoul was no longer in the room. It was simply the book affecting his judgment. Yet, everything so far seemed to fit – close enough that it was worrisome. Raoul must have just taken his mask off and then slipped out to sleep in his own room. Of course, why would Raoul want to sleep on the floor? Erik picked up his mask en route to Raoul's room but didn't put it on. There was no need anymore, and he was almost glad Raoul had been the one to take it off for him. It seemed fitting in some way.

Opening the door, he paused halfway through the doorway. He let out a deep breath through clenched teeth. His heart was beating erratically. Raoul wasn't in his room. The bed was already made, almost as though no one had slept in it at all. He frowned, shutting his eyes as he told himself once more that there was a logical explanation for Raoul's continued absence. He must be eating breakfast already, and while that was plausible, it wasn't enough to appease him. What disturbed Erik more was the fact that he hadn't heard Raoul moving about at all. Raoul shouldn't have been _able_ to leave the room without him noticing.

The door opened and Erik whipped around, "Where do you think…?" His question trailed off when he saw the butler instead of Raoul.

"Monsieur Erik."

Erik only wanted to know one thing. "Where's Raoul?" He could swear that the butler almost smirked.

"Do you know," the man said, leaving the doorway to pick up some clothes that had been left on the sidetable, "that you're the second person this very morning to ask that question?"

It took a second before Erik connected the noise that woken him to the butler's seemingly innocuous question before he was shouldering past the older man, rushing down the stairs to the front door. There had been a visitor this morning, someone looking for Raoul, and Erik could only think of one person that would do so. The woman from yesterday. If Raoul left with that woman, Erik didn't think he would be able to restrain himself from physically harming either Raoul or her. If he'd left knowing that Erik was still sleeping… Erik almost yelled in frustration. Forget worrying about the Raoul's health, Erik was going to be the cause of those injuries.

"Monsieur," the butler chased after him, regretting his choice words.

Erik flung the front door open, managing to surprise the gardener and the driver who were just outside. The gardener was by the bushes that lined the building while the driver stood by the carriage that had taken Erik away from this place, cleaning it.

"Where is she?" Erik directed his attention fully on the driver, already knowing the man would give him direct answers.

The driver glared at Erik before replying, "Who?"

"That whore who came here," Erik spat out, "Where did they go?"

The driver cast a glance behind Erik; Erik followed his gaze. The butler stood behind him, his expression blank although he was a little out of breath now. "I had to inform the _young lady_," he emphasized, "that the Vicomte had asked that they no longer meet. He would no longer make any further appointments."

Erik couldn't help but grin; he hated to admit that he even relaxed at hearing him say so. "Good."

"I wouldn't be talking if I were you," the driver muttered.

Erik was about to confront him when the butler spoke.

"He also told me," he cleared his throat, waiting for Erik to stop glaring at the driver and to give him his full attention. Only when Erik did so did he continue, "to tell you that you may stay here as long as you wish."

Erik momentarily forgot his anger. "What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means?" The driver retorted. "He's not here anymore."

Erik took a threatening step towards him, and the other man simply stood there. Wondering if he was losing his touch, Erik's hands itched for a Punjab lasso. He wouldn't have any qualms killing this man. Alright, perhaps he _would_ since Raoul would hardly approve and might never speak to him again if he did kill any of his servants. The blonde might be spiteful enough to do so; he simply cared too much about them. Erik hated how he was so certain of that truth. Apparently, the servants were higher in Raoul's regard than he was, and after everything they'd been through with each other. Erik was once more tempted to kill the driver.

Instead, he asked pointedly to him, "Well, if he's not here, where is he?"

The driver looked away with a scowl.

Erik scoffed. "You don't know," he said. He would have further mocked him if it weren't for the fact that he didn't know either. Turning his attention back to the butler, Erik could only assume that this man knew. "Well, where is he?" He asked impatiently. The longer time they spent talking here, the more time he wasted apart from Raoul.

"He didn't say where he was going."

Erik looked at him incredulously. He glanced at the house and knew that if Raoul had been inside, they would have known. They also would have told him. These men weren't liars; they were like the Vicomte, honest to a fault. They might not be liars, but perhaps they could be poorly informed. Not willing to accept that Raoul was gone, he headed towards their grove.

"He's not there either," the butler's voice stopped him.

"Where do you think…?"

"You're going?" The butler finished.

"We checked the entire estate," the gardener said, sharing a look with the driver. "The _entire_ estate."

Erik clenched his hands into fists. He needed to think, but Paris was a big place. If Raoul had left with the intention of _leaving_, Erik didn't know how it would be possible to find him. There was always a chance if Raoul had stayed in the city but if he'd gone farther. If he'd left… Erik didn't even want to think of that possibility. He _had _to be somewhere on the estate.

"I watched him ride away."

"What?" Erik turned to face the butler and noted that even the gardener and the driver were surprised at the declaration.

"How else would he have given me the message if I hadn't watched him leave?" The man asked reasonably.

Erik wasn't feeling very reasonable right now. He closed the distance between them and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. "Then tell me where he went," he used his free hand to lightly grab the man by his throat, the threat of tightening his grasp clear.

The gardener and driver were upon him in an instant. The gardener trying to pry his hands away while the driver pulled him bodily back. Erik's arms were pinned behind him as he was wrestled to the floor. Breathing deeply with his face in the dirt, Erik tried to calm down. He hadn't struggled against them, hadn't seen the point. He hadn't planned on killing the butler; he'd simply wanted information.

"That was too familiar," the driver ground out.

Erik had forgotten that the driver had been there when he'd left. I was indeed too familiar. Closing his eyes, he let his body go lax. They released him shortly after.

The butler had smoothed down his clothes and was once again in impeccable form when he said, "He didn't tell me. I do believe he thought it would be dangerous for me to know," he added pointedly. "Or, he didn't know himself. He didn't seem himself."

The driver rolled his eyes, "He hasn't _been_ himself lately." He received a disapproving look for that comment.

"He wouldn't have wanted us to worry," the gardener murmured to himself, taking several steps away from Erik to dust himself off.

"I don't believe you," Erik pushed himself off the ground. He stood up and looked disdainfully at all three of them.

"What's not to believe?" The driver was quick to come to the butler's defense even though he himself was more than a little annoyed at the man for not telling them such information. "You left him. Why does he need to tell _you_ where he went?"

"I came back," Erik growled.

"For what reason?" The driver yelled.

"What?"

"You heard me," he said, lowering his voice with one look from the butler. "Why did you come back?"

"To," Erik faltered. Why had he come back? He couldn't say because he'd read a book where Gwynplaine returned to Dea. Even to him that was hardly a good reason. It wasn't a reason at all. He was here because he _wanted_ to be here. Did there have to be any other reason besides wanting to? "To stay. I'm here to stay."

"Well, that's good," the driver scoffed. "Then we'll be seeing each other for a while. Too bad I doubt the Vicomte will return."

Erik scowled but didn't respond. He simply refused to accept that as an answer. Paris was big, France larger. He headed towards the stables with the butler and driver at his heels.

"Where do you think you're going?" The driver asked.

If he had to, Erik would search the entire continent for Raoul, but he hoped he wouldn't have to. "I'm going to find him. He couldn't have gotten that far."

He only stopped walking when one of them grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. He looked down at the offending hand before following it up to the face of the driver. "Do you want to lose that hand?"

The butler and he shared a look before the older man nodded. The driver responded, "I'm going with you."

o.o.o

Raoul had ridden through the night, pressing his favorite white horse as fast as it could go. He'd ridden fast enough that it had gotten cold, or perhaps it was simply the distance he'd travelled and his body was getting a little tired, an odd mixture of numb and sore. He just knew he couldn't stop.

He never should have stayed in Paris in the first place. He should've known that he was meant to leave. It had been there right in front of him. Leaving his estate had simply been a first step. The next obvious step would have been to leave the city.

It was his fault that he was suffering now. He should have realized that Erik would come back to mock him, to check on him, and to gloat. He'd even stayed exactly where he was so that it had been easier for the other man to find him. He'd been in _their _tree. He'd even run into _their_ room in his panic. He had made it so easy for him.

Why did Erik have to come back to gloat? Why did he have to ruin everything that Raoul had finally managed to accomplish in his absence?

Erik had come back to see how poor, pathetic Raoul was faring.

Raoul felt ill just thinking about it.

Erik wanted to laugh at his inadequacies, laugh at how he couldn't even move on from a man who'd never given any indication that he felt any affection for him except perhaps tolerance. Erik had tolerated him and Raoul had fallen in love. He was truly pathetic; he knew that.

He laughed harshly and was glad when the wind carried it quickly away.

He'd managed to fall in love with another wrong person who he was almost certain was the _right_ person this time. He could admit to being wrong the first time, being blinded by his past affection for her, but Erik had been different.

Raoul put one hand to his stomach.

There had been no pre-conceived notions between them – actually, there were but they'd all been rather damning. Yet, somehow, they'd worked. Together. They'd been compatible in ways that he'd never been with Christine and Erik's absence had eaten away at him in ways it hadn't with Christine, too. Of course, that had been because Erik had stopped that from occurring. He'd stopped Raoul's pain when Christine had left.

Raoul was forced to pull the reins roughly. His horse neighed discontentedly, rising on his hind legs before stopping. Dismounting quickly, Raoul fell to his knees before throwing up in the ditch. He sobbed, dry heaving for long moments before he was able to pull himself together. He gathered Erik's cloak about him, just kneeling in the dirt for a moment.

He'd been wrong again. He wasn't willing to be wrong about the same person twice.

Mounting the horse once more, Raoul spurred him onward. He was going to finally move on, and if that meant getting away from Paris or France completely, he would do it. He didn't want to _cope_. He didn't want to face anything or get _better_. He wanted to just forget everything and leave. This was the only way.

He could chase after other dreams now, just like he'd been attempting to do the whole time he'd been in Paris. Too bad those dreams had turned out to be nightmares. Now, he could do anything, and while that thought was exhilarating, Raoul didn't know he could feel so scared as well. He had a multitude of choices and felt sick to know he had _no _idea which one to pick.

o.o.o

Raoul didn't know how long he'd been travelling. He knew he'd slept on the forest floor several times already, but that hadn't been a hardship. The hardship had been the similar memories of falling asleep in their grove and then Raoul hadn't been able to sleep very much after that. He wished he'd brought something more than just a cloak and a horse with him, maybe a few francs would have been nice. He hadn't eaten and hadn't changed in days. He just kept moving without aim. That was, until a few hours ago. He'd just barely decided upon a destination, upon a new dream to chase, one that actually made sense this time. He'd been happy then.

So, with this new dream to chase, with this new resolve to leave everything of his old life behind, Raoul knew a place where he could stay, maybe for a little while, maybe forever. He wasn't quite certain just yet, but it was his next stop.

Raoul could feel the change in the air before he actually saw his cottage by the beach, before he heard the ocean. The air was cooler, the salt easily smelt; he could feel it in the air. He spurred his horse faster. He almost felt better just knowing that life here would be different. Even his hunger was subdued in his excitement.

He rode until he was at the ocean's edge, already having unclasped the robe and unbuttoned his shirt. He kicked off his shoes after dismounting the horse, leaving him only in his pants. He ran into the ocean unhesitatingly, diving under the incoming waves once he was far enough out. He wanted to swim out of his body, wanted to slough off his past and just keep swimming farther and farther away. Raoul tried his best just to do so. He kicked, propelling himself forward, cutting through the water and against the waves with brute force.

He slowed down only when he grew tired. Treading water, he tried to catch his breath while looking towards the horizon. He could swim farther, was almost tempted to do so if it hadn't been for the fact that he doubted he would be able to make it back.

He still hesitated for several seconds.

Shaking his head, he turned to start his swim back to the shore. He had barely made any progress when he realized with a spike of fear that he had overestimated his own energy. His limbs felt leaden and no matter how much he tried, he barely got any closer to shore. Struggling, he choked as he inadvertently swallowed mouthfuls of water. He was almost too afraid to duck his head underwater, unsure if he would be able to rise to the surface once more or if he would time it wrong so that the next wave would fall upon him preventing his next lungful of air. He floundered, desperation tempering all his movements, but he kept moving. He'd probably never swum so sloppily in his life, but it didn't matter.

When his feet finally hit sand, he almost cried out in joy. He stumbled, barely staying on his feet as he flung himself forward. His legs gave out beneath him while he was still waist deep into the water, but he was quick to recover. He wasn't ready to die just yet. Not when he'd finally found a way to move on.

Breathing heavily, he tried to convince his body that he wasn't on the verge of dying anymore. His heart was still pounding and he went into a coughing fit that brought him to his knees. He managed to clear his lungs, spitting out the salt water. When it was finally done, he turned over to fall to the sand boneless. He was exhausted and now hungrier than he thought possible. He'd have to find his horse and make it back to the cottage where he knew a skeleton staff would be. There was bound to be food.

He was sorely tempted but still couldn't bring himself to move. Closing his eyes, he let the sound of the waves relax him until his heart stopped racing. He'd stand up soon.

When someone blocked the sun, Raoul opened his eyes to stare at the darkened figure. Smiling, he thought himself lucky – maybe a servant had seen him and he wouldn't need to walk all that way to the cottage. However, when he discerned who stood there silently watching him, Raoul scrambled to his feet only to have them buckle beneath him again. At least it changed the angle they were looking at each other; he could now clearly see the man's face.

"Erik?" Maskless. Raoul was certain he wasn't hallucinating. He'd stopped believing Erik was dead when he'd taken off the man's mask in the room, when he'd touched the deformity again. Admittedly, if he could've, he would have still tried to run just to get as far away from this man as possible.

It didn't even make any sense. _Raoul _hadn't even known he was going to end up here.

Erik reached down and grabbing Raoul's throat said, "Don't ever do that to me again."

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 25

Word count: 3,426

o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o.o.o

o.o.o.o

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: I swore to myself that I wasn't going to try to kill him, and it nearly happened – I actually had to rewrite that ending. Way too dramatic; Erik running into the ocean to save him – but that's not how it goes. Raoul finally finds a reason to live and then what happens? Erik shows up. Man, how the hell did Erik know? He has really horrible timing actually.


	26. to stop

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Could writing get any more hectic? There's so many things going on! D8 I almost mixed up the storylines.

Story Note: This fic was supposed to end at a chapter 28, but looking over my notes, I think I might finish it a chapter earlier, ie the next chapter. I'm not sure. Just a heads up.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 26 - … to stop

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

The grains of sand bit into Raoul's throat as he choked. He tried to pry Erik's hand off but could feel his own weakness; his arms felt so heavy, his fingers barely holding on. Raoul was certain Erik couldn't be that much stronger than he was. Trying to free himself only made it worse though because Erik simply held on tighter. Yet, as Raoul struggled to focus on him, he could tell the anger he saw was different from when Erik had left with Christine. Erik _was _furious with him, that was undeniable, but it was tempered with annoyance and something that might have been akin to relief.

As darkness started to flicker at the edge of his vision, Raoul stopped trying to pull Erik's hand off; instead, he just held on tightly, more to keep himself from choking worse as he felt his body slumping. Only then did Erik loosen his hold.

Raoul slumped down to sit on his knees, gasping. He would've fallen to the ground completely if Erik's hand hadn't strayed to hold the back of his neck. It forced his head to tilt at an uncomfortable angle, one where he couldn't possibly hide his expressions from Erik. As much as he wanted to move, Raoul couldn't get his limbs to listen to him.

"Did you hear me?" Erik asked, stifling the urge to shake him. Raoul looked like he could barely focus, a state Erik knew he'd only exacerbated in his anger.

Tears were gathering at the corner of Raoul's eyes, tears that he blamed on almost dying in the ocean and nearly choking to death by Erik's hand and not on the fact that Erik was here again, despite all the odds. A type of desperation welled up in him. He didn't know to what end though. Desperate _for _Erik or to be as far as possible _from_ him?

He didn't even know what Erik was mad about now; he hadn't done anything wrong. He might have left, but if anything, Erik should be happy that he didn't have to waste his time checking up on him. Wasn't his departure answer enough? He didn't want to see either of them any longer. He _hadn't_ gone after them. He _hadn't_ somehow contacted Christine, had barely thought of her. He didn't even know where she was or where they'd gone. He'd simply stopped. He'd long since stopped wanting her and had been on his way to stop wanting _him_.

Erik lowered himself on one knee so that he could look Raoul in the eye, suddenly mindful of the strain he was putting on Raoul's neck. He spoke with quiet intensity, "Don't _ever _run from me."

Raoul let out a frustrated breath. Another threat. He knocked away Erik's hand, and sure enough, he fell backwards onto his elbows without the support. Cursing in his head, Raoul knew he didn't have the energy to deal with Erik at the moment. He just wanted to lie down and forget about everything. Untucking his legs from beneath him, Raoul pushed himself to a sitting position with shaky arms. He couldn't even muster up the energy to be properly angry.

"Why did you have to come back?" The question was rhetorical. Raoul wasn't interested in what excuses Erik might come up with this time around. He barely looked at him when he spoke even though Erik was still kneeling before him. He just wanted to know how it was possible that they'd end up at the same beach, that Erik had somehow made it from the Chagny estate in Paris to this cottage.

The broken way that he asked the question made Erik refrain from reaching out even when his hands itched to do so. He looked at Raoul, really looked at him. There were the scrapes and scratches from the tree yesterday that were still a little red. They were nearly hidden beneath the sand that clung to almost every inch of Raoul's body. His hair was tangled and sandy. But it was Raoul's expression that caught his attention. He'd seen it once before, after Christine had left them both. Erik would've laughed if it weren't so frustrating. It was almost ironic. The desperation and anguish that had been present because of Christine's _absence_ was now there because of his very _presence_.

What had he been thinking when he'd come back? That Raoul would welcome him with open arms, that he would have been waiting for him, that he wouldn't have been able to move on? Foolish thoughts for but another fool in their story.

It was obvious that Raoul had moved on. There was that woman. There was his reaction to Erik's mere presence.

Erik almost regretted leaving Christine behind before he rebelled against the very thought. He knew where he was supposed to be, and that was with Raoul. He'd _make _Raoul want him back, do whatever it took. He should've expected it to be difficult; Raoul always made things difficult for him. Why would now be any different?

Grabbing his arm, Erik pulled it over his shoulder before standing up. Raoul didn't struggle this time. He was barely able to stand on his own.

"What were you trying to do out there? Kill yourself again?" Erik chastised. He didn't know why the words came out. He had a feeling Raoul wouldn't reply, but he needed to calm him down some way and it was either yelling at Raoul or choking him again. And since he rather preferred Raoul to be alive and conscious, he had to settle for the first option.

As expected, Raoul didn't respond. He simply dug his heels into the sand. It did little to slow Erik down though; he was walking with a purpose.

Raoul didn't appreciate the way he seemed to fit just so against Erik's side or the way Erik suddenly didn't mind such close proximity to him. It was no small secret Erik liked his personal space and that he rarely touched anyone unless it was to injure or kill them – the only time Raoul could remember him willingly doing so was when Erik caught him whenever he fell out of the tree, and that had only been part of the plan to draw Raoul into a sense of security. He wasn't sure what Erik was trying to accomplish this time around.

"If you don't stop that," Erik paused, "I'll be forced to carry you in my arms. Like a bride." He shrugged, "Either way is fine with me."

Raoul barely looked up at him and all Erik could hear for long moments was Raoul's harsh breathing. He started walking again and was pleased when Raoul attempted to walk as well.

After a distance when the pounding of both his heart and the ocean waves had diminished, Raoul saw two of his horses and a servant holding their reins. He narrowed his eyes. It was his driver, the one he was certain he'd left in Paris.

The driver's eyes widened. He said incredulously, "You found him?" Remembering himself, he bowed, "Afternoon, Vicomte."

Raoul could only stare. He couldn't understand what was happening.

Erik muttered something to the man that Raoul missed in his musing. The driver removed the saddle on one of the horses before mounting his own, saddle in hand. He waited a second before Erik wordlessly motioned that he go ahead; the driver gave him a pointed glare, sparing Raoul a concerned glance before leaving them. The driver knew by now to turn a blind eye to such things and as much as he wanted to make certain himself that the Vicomte would be alright, he calmed himself with the thought that this was for the best. It wasn't right for the Vicomte to continue to act as he'd done; it wasn't healthy.

After the driver was far enough, Erik manhandled Raoul onto the remaining horse before mounting behind him. He left at a much more sedate pace.

Raoul protested loudly at such proximity between them. His actual struggle was weak only due to his fatigue, but that didn't mean he wasn't able to firmly elbow him several times before Erik was forced to release the reins in order to hold Raoul's arms down against his body. Raoul almost promised that he wouldn't run away if he was allowed to ride alone, but he wasn't a liar. Given the opportunity, no matter how weak he felt, he would have tried to ride away.

Erik was well aware of that fact. So, it was ultimately intelligent and wholly necessary on his part that he sat behind Raoul, one arm securely around the blonde's waist and arms while the other hand held the reins. And, if he managed to derive some sort of pleasure from the way Raoul's currently shirtless body was pressed tightly against him or how Raoul's rear was rocked against groin every time the horse took a step, then it was simply an additional benefit from their current circumstance.

Their circumstance was quickly forcing him to come to the realization that his interest in returning Raoul to the Chagny estate in Paris so that they could resume their lives together delved deeper than the expected comfort and sense of companionship Erik received in his presence. He was finding Raoul more agreeable than he'd ever thought possible – Raoul _was _a fop; Erik actually hated to admit that Raoul was quite far from a fop though, living with him proved that easily. Erik had simply never really bothered to think of Raoul sexually; it had never crossed his mind when they'd lived together. Raoul was simply Raoul, talkative, playful, annoying, and overall tolerable. After leaving Christine, the idea _had _crossed his mind, and at the moment, it was the only thing on his mind besides relief.

But Erik was no stranger to lust. He was well acquainted with that particular emotion, and he knew that what he wanted with Raoul was more. He wanted that trust he hadn't realized Raoul had placed in him until it was too late. He wanted their lives back, everything that Christine had destroyed with her return. Erik scoffed; everything that he would have eventually destroyed by his own hands even if she hadn't. He knew that.

Raoul was relaxing by increments, not having the energy to remain tense for such an extended period of time. But when Raoul finally leaned against him, his head resting against his shoulder fully exhausted and pliant, Erik considered it a victory and slowed their progress to the cottage considerably. He adjusted his arm, sliding it beneath Raoul's arms so that he was no longer restraining Raoul so much as holding him. He waited a moment but Raoul didn't protest, and Erik knew he was grinning.

He missed this even though they'd never been remotely this close to each other before. His body was reacquainting itself with Raoul's: the steady breathing, the beat of his heart, and the warmth that he could feel. Every step that the horse took was like a piece of what he'd been missing with Christine falling into place.

So by the time they reached the cottage, Erik was certain he'd never willingly let Raoul go again.

"We're here," he whispered in Raoul's ear as they stopped.

Raoul jerked away from him, looking around wildly. He was embarrassed to admit that he'd been dozing lightly. He didn't want to think about how easy it had been to relax knowing that Erik was there holding him. He'd almost convinced himself that he was dreaming, that he and Erik had come to visit the cottage on a vacation together.

Erik dismounted the horse first and Raoul's back felt a little chill without his presence. He scowled at his own thoughts. When Erik held his hands out to help him down, Raoul looked at him in disbelief.

"You'll fall otherwise," Erik tried to be reasonable. He also wanted to see how much Raoul would be willing to accept him back.

Raoul swung his leg over and slid down to the floor. Even as cautious as he was, his legs buckled. He grabbed onto the horse for support even as Erik moved to steady him. Raoul elbowed his hands away. It felt like there were butterflies in his stomach whenever Erik touched him. It was annoying and no matter how much he told his body to stop reacting to Erik's presence, it wouldn't listen.

He walked by himself, albeit unsteadily, into the cottage where the few servants that were present were bustling around trying to get it prepared for his sudden visit. They all greeted him and Raoul made a point to greet them back. His stomach growled loudly and he heard Erik snicker at the sound. Erik walked beside him, close enough that they brushed against each other. His hand was on Raoul's lower back urging him forward, leading him as though he knew where the kitchen was, and when they stepped into said room, Raoul conceded that apparently he did know.

Erik offered him some grapes. Raoul looked at the fruit then at Erik before turning away. He wasn't that hungry. Stopping a servant, he requested, "Please draw a bath for me. No need to warm it."

The young girl curtseyed and rushed to do as he'd asked.

"So you're going to ignore me?" Erik finally asked.

Raoul walked by him, heading towards his room so that he could find a change of clothes. He was tracking sand everywhere in the cottage but couldn't bring himself to care in his current state. He simply focused on not falling to the floor. Erik was waiting just for such an event to happen so that he would be forced to ask for his help.

Raoul was attempting to climb the stairs when the driver returned from tending to the horses. He was at Raoul's side immediately.

"Here, Vicomte. Let me help please."

Raoul smiled at him. If anything, he guessed that this man was also a victim of Erik's machinations. "Thank you," he sighed, leaning against the man.

Erik nearly tore them apart with every intent to strangle the driver no matter how integral the man had been in finding Raoul. Only the chance that Raoul might fall down the stairs stopped him.

When they reached the top of the stairs, the driver finally let go of him. "Do you need more assistance?" He asked.

Raoul smiled putting his hand on the driver's bicep in thanks, and Erik seriously considered killing the man. "I believe I can walk unassisted. Thank you though."

When Raoul turned to walk down the hall, Erik grabbed the driver's arm, squeezing it painfully as though he could erase Raoul's touch from him. The driver's mouth hung open in a silent yell, knowing not to alarm the Vicomte.

"What?" He whispered, trying to free his arm.

Erik glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Helping him up the stairs. What does it look like?"

Erik released his arm after a moment's hesitation.

The driver cradled it against himself with a wince. "I didn't want him to fall, did you?"

"Of course not," Erik shot back. He looked down the hallway and saw that Raoul already made it to his room. He said through clenched teeth, "Stop being so helpful."

The driver followed his gaze down the hall. "It would be best if you watch yourself."

Erik quirked an eyebrow at him. "You should listen to your own advice."

Not taking the hint, the driver followed Erik as he walked to Raoul's room. Raoul was leaning against his dresser, clothes in hand when they entered. He didn't turn around.

"Raoul." "Vicomte." They said at the same time.

Raoul looked up, as though in a daze. He let out a small laugh, "I must've fallen asleep on my feet." Seeing their concerned faces, he added, "I'm fine, simply tired." Other than lifting his head, he didn't move from his spot against his dresser. It would have been a waste of energy to do so. "I've been meaning to ask. How did you find me?"

"How did we find you?" Erik repeated disdainfully. "I know you, Raoul. Know you better than I know myself and once you realize that, life will be easier for us both."

The driver rolled his eyes at the response and Raoul gave no indication that he had heard.

If the situation had been different, Raoul would have thought those words were something of a confession of love. Perhaps not _love_, but something unbearably close. After everything that had happened though, Raoul knew them to simply be more lies. Erik might even be partially true about knowing him but that meant nothing about love; it was simply one more taunt, one more humiliation, a taint on the time they'd spent together.

Raoul simply couldn't let himself hope, hoping hurt too much. And when it came down to it, Erik _didn't_ know him, not like he thought he did. If he truly did, he would never have left.

Erik ignored the fact that the driver rolled his eyes at the statement. He might have left out the part where they'd tried every village, city, and known person around Paris and farther before Erik had the idea to head towards this cottage, and even then, it had only been partly because of a faint memory of Raoul talking about the place and mostly because of the book he now damned in his head.

As much as he tried, he couldn't refrain from making the parallels, parallels that he, at turns, enjoyed and hated. L'Homme Qui Rit had ended in the ocean, ended _tragically_ in the ocean. So, even though it was the driver that had led them to the actual cottage, he'd already been inextricably drawn there and had almost been certain that Raoul would be as well.

They'd waited half a day for Raoul to arrive, long enough that Erik had begun to worry that Raoul was simply getting farther and farther away from him as he did nothing but pace through the household. They'd actually left the cottage already and were falling into their rhythm when he saw Raoul's horse wandering.

He saw it and immediately feared the worse, his heart arresting in his chest. Changing directions quickly, his eyes desperately swept across the wide expanse of ocean, holding his breath against hope. He saw the clothes that were scattered across the beach. Straining forward, he searched for familiar blonde hair or any sign of movement. He'd been on his way to dive into the ocean when he saw Raoul inert on the beach, barely out of the water. It wasn't until he was closer that he realized Raoul was still alive, and only after he'd released a breath of relief did he wonder whether he should throttle him or throw him back into the ocean.

The only thing that he could think was that he'd almost missed him. His impatience had almost made him miss Raoul.

"Well," Raoul prompted to the driver.

The driver looked at him in confusion before glancing towards Erik, who nodded tersely. "Uh. How we found you?"

"Yes."

"We were all worried at your state when you left us," he explained haltingly, suddenly not sure he wanted to be in the room at the moment. "It was suggested," he glanced at Erik, "that we go search for you and check the cottage." He grinned, "We remember how you'd loved it as a child. Where did _you_ go?"

Raoul closed his eyes, feeling weighed down. Could it have been that easy? Erik had decided that Raoul would go to the cottage and sure enough he had. That was it? Raoul had travelled non-stop through France's countryside, his mind in utter turmoil; he'd been half out of his mind. It had taken him days before even deciding to go to the ocean. He felt the hysterical urge to cry, knowing that he didn't even have the energy to do that.

"I was wandering for a while," Raoul said quietly. "I hadn't decided on a destination until just this morning."

The driver started, "Erik said…"

Raoul cut him off with an abrupt and cold statement. "Erik is dead to me."

Erik's eyes actually widened at that. He'd never heard Raoul sound quite like that before. At least it would explain why Raoul had decided to ignore him, but he wasn't quite sure how to react to such a response. Deciding that Raoul would eventually abandon his pointless ruse given time, he didn't respond. He'd make it impossible for Raoul to ignore him.

"I seem very much alive," Erik commented.

"Is that why…?" The driver thought aloud to himself. Raoul had sometimes referred to mourning, but it had been so vague at the time they'd thought he meant it figuratively.

Raoul pointedly explained, "If you must know, the reason it was so easy for me to move on," he didn't consider it lying if it was mostly the truth; it hadn't been easy so much as it had been easier, "was simply by imagining the opera ghost had simply died." He even managed a smile that didn't look as pained as it felt. "Simple as that."

Erik wasn't quite sure if he should be angry or surprised that Raoul had it in him to be so cold. It was near disturbing, but he didn't believe a single word of it. He refused to.

"Vicomte," a knock on the door drew all their attentions, "Your bath is ready."

"Do you need…" the driver trailed off when he saw the look Erik was giving him. "I will take my leave now." He bowed again before leaving.

Erik waited to see what Raoul would do next. Still ignoring him, Raoul walked to the bathroom as steadily as he could. It was easy to see that it took a concerted effort to walk across the room but Erik stayed back. If Raoul wanted to continue this ruse, then Erik would gladly follow just to see how committed he was.

Entering the bathroom, Raoul saw the tub filled with water. He didn't hesitate for a second before he began to undress. He knew that Erik wasn't going to leave him alone. He doubted he'd have privacy for a while or at least until the older man fell asleep. Raoul was already planning it in his head. As much as Raoul feared he was wrong, Erik couldn't actually know before he did where he was going to go. He'd break free eventually. Until then, all he had to do was ignore him. Raoul noted his presence from the corner of his eye. Or at least pretend to.

He unbuttoned his trousers and tugged them and his underwear off, forcing himself to not care that Erik was in the same room. Erik just stared, thinking to himself that there might be some benefit to being considered dead.

Raoul stepped into the tub and lowered himself into the water with a shiver. The water was freezing, which Raoul was absently thankful for as he felt Erik's eyes still trained on him. He just wanted to get all the sand off him, and as the sand floated down to the bottom of the tub, he began to feel a little better. Keeping his eyes resolutely away from the man who had taken a seat at the foot of the tub and was currently staring at him unabashedly, Raoul dunked his head underwater. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get as much sand out of it as possible.

Erik smirked, a little disappointed that the tub was small enough that Raoul had to bend his knees to fit completely since it covered some parts unless Erik craned his neck a bit, which he did. That position left little to the imagination though. Raoul was extremely committed to this course of action.

When Raoul surfaced, Erik commented, "So you're starving yourself." He purposely looked Raoul over once again, though he did pay special attention to the fact that he could now see how skinny Raoul had gotten. He could count ribs now.

Raoul didn't respond, simply closed his eyes, once again thankful for the chill of the water. He rested his head against the edge. Erik would have to sleep and then he could make his escape then; maybe he could even lock him in the room. But that wouldn't work because there were windows and Erik was good at climbing out of those. Maybe he could somehow tie him up, but Erik would surely wake up and struggle. His only hope was really to try and outrun him. If he could somehow take all the horses with him then that would give him enough time to get away. The cottage was quite secluded; there would be no way for Erik to get a horse.

After some time, he opened his eyes and saw Erik closing the door. Raoul frowned; he hadn't heard it open in the first place. Erik sat at the foot of the tub again holding a tray of food. Raoul's stomach growled just at the sight.

Smirking, Erik asked, "Are you still going to ignore me now?"

Raoul had to admit that now that he was clean and sufficiently calm that hunger was the last need to fulfill. Erik held up a single grape, taunting him with it. It slipped out of his grasp, falling near his stomach with a plop. Before Raoul could react, Erik reached into the tub, being sure to touch as much of Raoul as possible before the blonde jerked, grabbing his arm before he could do any more damage. By the end of that small movement, water had gotten everywhere. Raoul's knees were drawn up to his chest as he leaned forward cradling Erik's arm so as to keep it immobile. Erik had barely managed to keep his hold on the tray of food even though he was now drenched.

"Damn it, Erik!" Raoul lifted Erik's arm out of the water, holding tightly even while he pushed it as far away from his body as possible.

Erik looked unrepentant, opening his hand to reveal the wayward grape. Raoul let him go and pushed his hair back.

"Not so dead, am I?"

Raoul paused to consider what he should do. "I'm having _one_ conversation with you." He gave Erik a pointed look before dunking himself under the water again. He came up, smoothing his hair back out of his face. He stood up, making a point of being so forward. He was faintly reminded of the time Erik had tried to gain a reaction from him in the same manner. Stepping out of the tub, he reached for a towel to dry himself off before tugging on some loose pants. "One conversation," he said, finally looking back at Erik. "That's it, though there's nothing you can say that I want to hear or that I'll even believe from you."

He returned to his bedroom to grab a brush.

"You're such a fop," Erik commented.

"Are you going to waste this conversation?" Raoul asked, struggling to get some of the tangles out. Between almost drowning and Erik's not so gentle greeting, Raoul wouldn't be surprised if he had to cut his hair just to make it manageable. Brushing his hair also gave him a convenient way to distract himself from the rather inevitable conversation they were going to have.

Erik took a seat on the edge of the bed, just watching him. He'd watched Raoul run through the routine of trying to tame his hair. He'd said those words before, meaning it then as much as he meant it now. He'd never realized how something as insignificant as this could be something he desired.

Even though he was certain that he could make Raoul speak to him again, this first conversation was something he knew to be important. It was in this conversation that he could make Raoul realize that he didn't have a reason to run away. Erik could explain how he'd been wrong, that maybe he had started out at the Chagny estate to help his and Christine's future but it hadn't been like that in the end. He wasn't even sure if that had ever _really_ been the reason he'd stayed.

Instead, the first thing out of his mouth was, "You brought my cloak."

Raoul, who'd been making a concerted effort to remain completely emotionless, looked at him with open confusion. He answered slowly, "It was the nearest thing at hand."

Deciding it was too late to take back that statement, he pointed out, "Your clothes were just in the next room."

"I wanted something I didn't care if it got dirty to sleep on," Raoul retorted. He tossed the brush down on the dresser so that he could give his full attention to Erik, so that he could glare properly.

"You wanted something to remember me," Erik challenged.

Raoul couldn't believe it. "I don't understand how you can be so arrogant. What happened to that tortured soul who sang of everyone hating him? And no one loving him," he said mockingly. "Where do you even get this confidence?"

Erik stared at him steadily. "Because," and Erik knew he was taking a big risk here. "I know you love me." He didn't know if Raoul loved him. He didn't know if whatever Raoul might have felt for him was now completely ruined by having left, but the book had led him to Raoul and he couldn't accept that he _wouldn't _have him in the end, whatever that end might be.

Mouth slightly ajar, Raoul held his gaze. He wondered how Erik had found out. That explained his sudden appearance though. Erik had somehow found out that Raoul had fallen in love with him and was now back to make sure it wouldn't affect what he'd been trying to accomplish all along. Raoul shut his mouth, lips pressed tightly together as his mind tried to figure a way to get Erik to leave him alone already. There was no use lying now. Erik knew.

"Stop following me," he said simply. He was so tired, tired of running, of talking, of hurting. He didn't have any more tears. He didn't have any more sleepless nights and endless days to spare pining after Erik. He just couldn't do it anymore.

"Stop running." Erik stood up and approached him, stopping barely close enough to reach out and touch him if he dared. He was certain if he took a step closer, Raoul would move.

Raoul met his eyes, and Erik hated to see him like this again, resigned. "Just go back to Christine."

Erik scoffed. "I'm not with Christine."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm not," Erik repeated, hearing Raoul's apathy towards the statement. Christine had been the problem, hadn't she? Erik was erasing that problem and Raoul still didn't seem to care.

Raoul merely shrugged. Erik could say that as many times as he wanted, but there was little he could do to make him believe that lie.

"Why would I be here if I were with Christine?" Erik asked.

Raoul laughed, loudly and bitterly, "Why were you with me before, Erik? _Why?_"

Erik averted his eyes for a moment.

"Can you tell me why?" Raoul pressed.

"It's different now," Erik tried to explain.

"It's not," Raoul laughed again and the sound was so broken that he was forced to stop himself. "The answer to that question, Erik, is so that you could be with her," Raoul said when Erik refused to. "You were with me because you wanted to be with _her_." The ache in his chest had returned. He welcomed it; it was familiar and so much better than the butterflies in his stomach. He concluded, "Now, go be with her. I won't follow."

Erik, losing his temper and unable to stand Raoul flaunting his own mistakes in his face, reached out and grabbed his shoulders. "I know you won't follow." He hadn't expected Raoul to chase after them even after Raoul had raced down the stairs just in time to see them off. After all, he'd made certain of that, didn't he?

"Release me," Raoul said evenly.

"No." Erik held on tighter. "You need to listen."

"I'm already listening. I already know." Raoul didn't struggle though, knowing it would be pointless.

"I don't love Christine," he nearly yelled.

"I heard," Raoul replied blandly.

Erik shook him. "I came back just for _you_."

"So it would seem."

"I _searched_ for you."

"I realize." Raoul continued to look at him calmly.

Erik floundered to find the right words to convince him that it had all been a mistake. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Raoul was already slipping away from him even when he wasn't running. When he began to believe that he'd be chasing Raoul for the rest of their lives, he suddenly knew what he had to say. "You're Dea."

Raoul looked at him in confusion before controlling any further reactions. They stared at each other.

"Is that all?" Raoul asked, clearly in a manner that conveyed he was unimpressed with his declaration. "I want to eat before I fall asleep."

Erik let him go as though he burned, frowning. He took a few steps back, trying to gather himself. He'd thought… he thought that would mean something to Raoul, that he would understand the reference. "No," he said, shaking his head. "That's not all." Raoul looked bored and tired. Erik swallowed through the lump in his throat. He consoled himself with the thought that Raoul might not understand now, but he would eventually. "One more thing."

"What?" Raoul's attention was already directed towards the bathroom where they'd left the food.

"Stop running," Erik held his hand up when Raoul looked like he was about to interrupt. His voice was tired but firm as he finished, "You'll give up running away from me a lot sooner than I'll give up running after you."

Raoul gave a short nod before heading towards the food. Once he was far enough away from Erik, he closed his eyes and breathed in shakily; he wasn't sure he wanted Erik to be proven wrong.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 26

Word count: 5,714

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: That was cold on Raoul's part. Cold! Who knew he had it in him? But he's _got _to be affected by Erik's words somehow, right? Right!?


	27. to relax

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Late doesn't even begin to describe how long this has taken. I got lost in some things and didn't even write for weeks; and the sad part is that I didn't even realize it. I apologize. I just realized that I must hate finishing fics. It takes me forever to do so.

Story Note: One more chapter after this one and this story arc is complete. And no pron to speak of. Sad, indeed.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 27 - … to relax

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

As promised, Raoul ignored Erik completely after their conversation; that is, after he'd managed to compose himself away from that all too familiar gaze now weighted with something he could almost swear hadn't been there before and after he'd managed to consequently remind himself why they were here in the first place. He might not be able to believe Erik was dead any longer, but he wasn't willing to be hurt again. Not by the same trick. Not by the same man. He'd be foolish to let his guard down, and on some level, it frightened him to think of how much _more_ it would hurt to be left alone again. The mere concept that he _could_ hurt more was overwhelming.

Erik had to be dead for all intents and purposes, and Raoul knew he would simply have to learn how to live with the ever-present knowledge of Erik's choice of Christine over him. There was no point in trying to deny it any longer. Forgetting about the ordeal hadn't worked. Moving on was no longer even an option, what with Erik's presence. The only thing left to do was to accept the pain and when the opportunity presented itself, to run away. Again.

After all, running away was the only available resort. Erik might chase him; alright, Erik _would _chase him. For a while. But Erik wouldn't be able to find him if he really tried to get away, not that he hadn't been trying the last time. This time, though, this time he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't even consider stopping by any of the properties he owned. He'd leave completely to a place that he didn't even know, where no one knew him or even of him. He'd go to a place where Comtes, prima donnas, opera houses – and opera ghosts – were a novelty. There or somewhere even further, he could start life over again and become a person he could live with, someone who wasn't so naïve and so easily hurt.

That was only if he was able to get away though. He had a feeling that would take some time.

There were surprisingly no more confrontations. Erik was quiet, pensive even. The only thing he did was keep Raoul within his sight. Beyond that, he kept a respectable distance away. The last he'd checked of Erik's presence – when his eyes swept the room to make sure everything was in order, not to specifically search for the man – Erik had been sitting by the balcony, pointedly reading _L'Homme Qui Rit_, a fact that had not slipped Raoul's notice even as much as he continued to pretend not to.

He didn't have the energy to think about what they'd said to each other, what Erik had said to him. In fact, he didn't want to because he knew that he'd simply dissect every word and inflection before inevitably coming to the wrong conclusions. So, he distracted himself by gorging on the food that the servants had brought, fussing over his clothing, and making certain to close the heavy curtains for the sake of blocking out the sun, which was still streaming through the balcony doors and windows and would be doing so for a few more hours.

After travelling, swimming, and the emotionally draining process of dealing with Erik, his mind was driven towards blankness and by the time he dropped onto the bed, he'd somehow managed to forget Erik was even there. All it took was closing his eyes and he fell asleep despite the few reservations he had regarding his company.

o.o.o

After their conversation, Erik had dropped into the chair near the balcony, not quite confident on what his next course of action should be. His eyes followed Raoul as the younger man walked to and fro within the confines of their – no, Erik corrected his thoughts – _Raoul's _room. This wasn't their room, not their house. It was Chagny property, and that distinction had never seemed so significant until this moment. He was an interloper, had always been one in Raoul's life.

However, as much as the estate in Paris had been Chagny property, it had also been theirs. The servants, the trees, the rooms, everything had become a part of his domain. He'd lived there for such a short time compared to the opera house and still, he felt more attached to the estate than he did to the Opera Populaire. He doubted it was the estate itself. In fact, Erik _knew _it had nothing to do with the building, the lawn, or servants and _everything_ to do with the man in front of him who had not only moved on without him but preferred to think of him as deceased.

Raoul didn't care he was back. Erik nearly laughed at that particular understatement since Raoul didn't care if he was _alive_.

For a mere second, Erik tore his gaze away from Raoul unable to even look at him. This was worse than his time in the Opera Populaire pining after Christine; she too had been close and untouchable. Yet, he knew that she would have been more receptive to his presence than Raoul at the moment.

He thought, not for the first and definitely not the last time that this was not how it was supposed to happen. Raoul was Dea; he had no right to reject Erik, to not... Erik hesitated simply because as much as it made sense, as much as it was meant to be, the concept was still a little foreign to him; Raoul had no right to not love him after everything they'd been through. After everything that _Erik_ had been through, how much of his past that he'd just left behind, how much he'd had to concede to admit his own feelings, Raoul couldn't _not love_ him.

Perhaps Raoul simply didn't understand what he'd meant calling him Dea – as unlikely as that was considering Raoul had read the book and knew the reference. There was the alternative – and Erik was unwilling to believe this – Raoul _had_ understood the reference and simply didn't care.

Their time together must have meant something to him though. It was a rather hypocritical assumption on his part, Erik knew that. He'd left Raoul without a second thought, simply because he hadn't thought of their time together as meaningful. He hadn't realized what exactly they'd had together until it was too late.

Raoul wasn't him though. Raoul hadn't blinded himself to everyone but Christine. He hadn't spent near a lifetime pining after her, hadn't believed that he'd simply been biding his time until he could leave with her.

That somehow made it worse.

Still, Erik hadn't lied when he'd told Raoul that he knew him better than he knew himself. He didn't care if Raoul considered him dead, didn't care if Raoul tried to ignore him because Erik _knew _that Raoul wouldn't be able to ignore him forever. He knew that given time, Raoul would stop fighting him and just maybe love him.

Time and patience. Erik believed he had one and could learn the other.

So, when Raoul closed the curtains despite the fact that he was still pretending to read, he didn't say anything. He shut his book and returned to watching Raoul, only blatantly now. The young man did well to ignore him though. It was quite easy on Raoul's part since as soon as his head touched the pillow he fell asleep.

In the darkness that his eyes easily adjusted to, Erik watched Raoul for a long while, just taking in the sight and allowing his mind wander. He was supposed to be here, as awkward as it currently was. It was a little odd how he was absolutely certain of this fact now. There was nowhere else he would rather be, where he could be. With the whole world at his disposal, he only wanted to be here, and though some part of him said that fact should worry him, it didn't.

He did realize how much easier this would be if he only lusted after Raoul; he would have taken what he wanted by this time regardless of the blonde's affections or wishes. It would be less confusing and probably more satisfying, but it was ultimately unrealistic. Why would he have given up on Christine if he'd only wanted Raoul's body? In fact, this situation would have been easier if he'd simply only wanted Raoul's companionship like before. He would've been able to have both Christine and Raoul with that scenario.

He wanted more than what they'd once had though. It was becoming increasingly obvious by the way his body gravitated to Raoul's. It was nothing like being with Christine; his body had known before he'd even brushed against the thought. His impulses were a constant tug on his limbs to move him ever closer to Raoul not only to ensure that Raoul was by his side but that he was also safe. His mind flashed back to the sight that had greeted him upon his return to the Chagny estate and to the one thought that seemed to keep arising.

_Dea died in the novel._

Suddenly unable to stay seated, Erik stood up noisily, keeping an eye on Raoul to see if he was indeed asleep. When there was not so much as a rustle on the bed, he quickly retreated to the bathroom to clean himself of the sand that had accumulated during his confrontation with Raoul. It was a luxury that he'd missed while travelling with Christine. He'd gotten soft – after all, he wanted his old bed, regular meals, quiet mornings, the feeling of cleanliness, and Raoul. He'd stopped being the infamous opera ghost long before he'd realized it and moreover, long before he could do anything to stop the change. There was nothing to do now but chase after what he wanted.

Once clean, he ate what was left of Raoul's meal. He thought of leaving the room to obtain more food but thought against it. Slowly approaching the bed to observe the blonde more closely, he reached out, wanting to card his fingers through Raoul's hair. He'd felt them against him on the ride over when Raoul had smelt of ocean and sweat, a combination that Erik could find no fault in. This though, the blonde strands were still damp but finally untangled; they would be smoother. He could just imagine what it would be like.

Stopping short, Erik took a step back, shaking his head. That impulse had been strong, and he had to exert more self control. He'd completely lost focus – or perhaps, he'd focused much too intensely on Raoul. The blonde needed his sleep, and Erik realized that he did as well. Unfortunately, there was the problem of Raoul running away once he did fall asleep. In the past, he wouldn't have thought it possible, they were so attuned to each other, but he wasn't willing to be proven wrong a second time. The panic he'd experienced once had been one time too many; he didn't know what he would do if he woke up to find Raoul missing again. Luck had never truly been on his side before.

Torn in his dilemma, Erik took a moment to consider his options before grinning to himself. There was only one option; he walked around to the other side of the bed and lifted up the blankets.

Raoul stirred when Erik had half his weight on the bed, causing Raoul to lean towards him. He groaned, and peering up at Erik confusedly, asked, "Erik?" He struggled to focus in the darkness.

Despite having the distinct feeling likened to being caught in a destructive act at the opera house, Erik retorted, "You're speaking to me?"

At his tone, Raoul roused even more. Though his limbs felt leaden, his mind was quick to assess the situation. Glowering, he emphasized, "_Ghost_, what do you think you're doing?"

Considering all the possible bitter remarks he could say, Erik instead, settled for the truth, "I'm going to sleep."

With great effort, Raoul shifted over to crowd Erik, "Not here you're not."

Erik grinned, glad that it was so dark Raoul probably could not see it. The Vicomte actually thought that he'd back away from physical contact? "Where else do you think I'm going to sleep?"

Scoffing, Raoul answered, "Sleep in the barn, in the kitchen. I don't care. Better yet," he grinned maliciously, "sleep on the floor like you normally do when biding your time for Christine."

The accusation was like a physical blow and Erik actually faltered. Refusing to allow another reaction, he simply refused. "No."

Raoul bit his lower lip in frustration. "No?"

"I'm sleeping right here." To prove his point, Erik awkwardly laid down, pulling the blanket securely over himself. However, since Raoul was being stubborn, he ended up lying half on the blonde. Erik vaguely noted that he was right, Raoul's hair was still a little damp, now smelling only faintly of the ocean and more of the soap that they'd both used.

There were a few moments of frantic motion before Raoul managed to move clear to the other side of the bed. Having Erik on him like that did nothing for the pain that was gradually building in his chest.

Erik added, quite pleased with himself despite the fact that Raoul was now extremely tense and too far to even feel his warmth, "And if I'm dead, it hardly matters."

Squeezing his eyes shut and forcing the warmth of Erik's body out of his mind, Raoul tried to think. In his mental state however, he could only reach two obvious conclusions: he could continue arguing with Erik or go back to sleep. Currently, sleep was his priority.

In fact, he realized that he didn't even care where.

Instead of verbally responding, Raoul grabbed his pillow and moved to slide out of the bed. Erik was fast enough to catch him, grabbing him around the waist and dragging them both back to the very center of the bed.

Instinctively, Raoul immediately began to struggle: his arms flailing caught Erik across the jaw and in the stomach. He kicked whatever he could reach, which wasn't as much as he would have liked. They couldn't be so close to each other; he couldn't think properly when they were. His heart thudded desperately in his chest, trying to burst free.

Erik held on tighter, pulling them ever closer. In the end, Raoul gave up fighting before he did.

"Erik." Raoul hated that his voice almost broke. His back was pressed firmly against Erik's chest; he lay limply in his embrace so that Erik wouldn't have any reason to hold him any tighter. Still, he could feel Erik's chest rise with every breath and the puff of warm air against the nape of his neck, and thanks to his previous struggling, every sped up breath was that much more tortuous. "Release me. If you want the bed, you can have it."

"Raoul," Erik responded and his voice seemed much closer than expected.

Raoul squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach tensing. He was wide awake now and glad that Erik couldn't see his expression. "Let me go," his voice was more even than he thought it would be.

"No."

"Why do you keep doing this to me?" Raoul muttered under his breath.

Holding him tighter, Erik answered, "Because nothing else will make you understand that I only want the bed when you're on it."

Raoul's heart skipped a beat, but it was specifically that reaction that made him realize that he was once again falling for all of Erik's empty words. "Fine," he responded tersely, and as he tensed even more, Erik wondered what had set him off this time. Though the words were acquiescent, Raoul's voice screamed an unwilling concession, "We'll both sleep on the bed. Just release me."

Erik considered disregarding his request. He was just as unwilling to release Raoul as Raoul was to stay within his embrace, but ultimately, he decided it was against his best interest to not concede since Raoul had already given in. He needed Raoul to stop fighting and though it came naturally to Erik, being unreasonable was not the way to calm Raoul.

The second he was free, Raoul moved to the very edge of the bed; Erik barely managed to stifle his automatic reaction to follow him. He too was tired and simply knowing that Raoul was near had brought forth the fatigue he'd been successfully ignoring. Though he struggled to stay awake to ensure Raoul didn't leave, he fell asleep quickly.

o.o.o

Some time in the middle of his sleep, Raoul was certain he'd woken to vague impressions, sounds that he couldn't quite identify and shapes he was certain he shouldn't be able to see in the darkness of the room. His mind focused mostly on the overwhelming warmth the surrounded him, not quite suffocating as a distant part of his brain told him it should be. He hadn't felt this warm in such a long time.

As something akin to peace descended over him, Raoul fell asleep with a gentle sigh.

The next time he woke, his mind was clearer. He recognized the heat for what it was, Erik's body pressed against his. Again. Raoul hated to think that he already knew what that felt like. He didn't want to be able to conjure the feeling when Erik left him again. It would only hurt more to know what he'd never have.

Erik was draped half on him, an arm securely around Raoul's waist. His hand had somehow slipped beneath his shirt and was pressed against his stomach. Raoul would have been angrier if they hadn't been at the very center of the bed. It meant that some time when he was sleeping, he'd actually moved towards Erik.

He swallowed with some difficulty before trying to even his breathing so as to not wake the ghost. He'd barely moved an arm when Erik made a discontent noise, tugging Raoul ever closer – how, Raoul wasn't certain. If Erik pulled him any closer, he would be beneath the older man.

His face heated up at the thought. He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to stifle that train of thought.

Instead, he focused on what he needed to do. If he could slip out, then he'd be able to take a horse and leave even though the more he accepted the fact that there was no other choice but to leave everything behind, the more it actually physically hurt to just think it.

He shifted his weight in an effort to turn onto his back but Erik shifted as he'd begun the motion. Raoul froze, afraid Erik would wake up. While he didn't, Raoul knew he'd have to wait until Erik was really asleep or more importantly until his guard had been let down before he could leave.

And it was warm here. Raoul could enjoy it for a little while, couldn't he? He wasn't Erik but he could take a lesson from Erik's repertoire and bide his time.

Tentatively, Raoul placed his hand atop Erik's, feeling the roughness of the skin, the bony fingers. He tentatively entwined their fingers before resting them back against his stomach, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe he could just enjoy this with a healthy dose of skepticism. For the moment, he could pretend that everything was fine. He could ignore the fact that Erik had an ultimate plan where Raoul was just another means to an end, not the end itself. It would be a sensible concession, if it weren't for the fact that he knew he was conceding simply because he wasn't strong enough to keep fighting Erik. Not when every part of him wished to believe Erik wasn't lying.

Staring into the darkness, he tried to keep his mind blank, but more importantly keep his heart from hoping too much.

o.o.o

Erik woke up with a smile on his face. It didn't take him too long to realize why. Raoul hadn't left. In fact, Raoul was in his arms tucked tightly against him. The smell of him filled his every breath; stray blonde hairs tickled his cheek. Erik's throat constricted when he realized that one hand was trapped by one of Raoul's. He couldn't help but grin, his mind providing the image of Raoul's hand caressing his forearm, following it down to the back of his hand before entwining their fingers.

He basked in the sensations; his heart was beating much too quickly for having just woken. It was almost too much; this touching, this proximity without having to fight every centimeter for it.

This. This was why he'd come back. This was why he would never let Raoul out of his sight again if he could prevent it.

Yet, even as he thought that, he knew that he would have to let Raoul go before he woke. Raoul would not react very well to waking up in such a position and then they would start their day together with an argument, an unnecessary argument. Erik resolved to wake up before Raoul every day, unwilling to give up waking up in such a manner. If Raoul knew, he'd make a concerted effort to stay on his side of the bed.

Erik already had the evidence he needed to know that Raoul _could_ – no, he _would _– love him back. It didn't matter that Raoul might have only sought out his touch thinking of someone else or perhaps because Raoul was simply touch-starved enough that any body would do. Erik would be there to take whatever he gave and would give everything Raoul needed.

He bent his head forward, pressing a kiss to Raoul's neck just to feel his pulse steadily beat out a rhythm that in such a short time, Erik already knew.

Reluctantly, he managed to leave Raoul alone in the bed before finding some way to occupy his time.

o.o.o

Erik was surprised at how easily they fell back into a proximity of what they'd once been to each other before.

It may have taken more than a week before Raoul eventually stopped pointedly ignoring him. Erik had been able to easily track as his resolve broke. It had started off as eyes sweeping past him then progressed to quick glances in his direction and then lingering gazes. Unfortunately, he'd also taken to looking right through him at times, an action that put Erik ill at ease. To see Raoul's eyes so unfocused towards him made him wonder just who Raoul was seeing.

Even with that disappointing development, Erik enjoyed the fact that this time around there were no arguments about who would get the bed; they shared it. He woke up every morning with Raoul in his arms, though their fingers only wound up entwined some mornings. Each evening, they started at opposite ends of the bed and each morning, he'd be forced to slip out of bed before Raoul awoke to find them embracing.

They still shared breakfast, Raoul notably less animated than before. He was more reticent and since Erik had never quite practiced small talk, much of their time was now spent in silence. Not all comfortable.

They spent some afternoons walking along the beach – though quite far from the ocean itself – and sometimes through the forest. At first, Erik suspected that Raoul was trying to find the easiest route from which to escape. It may have been so the first few weeks, but he'd stopped being suspicious the first time Raoul stopped in front of a tree and proceeded to climb it. And though Erik worried rather unnecessarily over seeing him any sort of distance off the ground, he couldn't help the surge of hope that caught him completely off guard. Raoul had simply been looking for a tree he could climb. Erik settled at the base just as he'd always done though his senses were completely on Raoul, more of a guardian than a companion, but at least less than a captor.

Persistence was proving to be very effective, but it was a slow process. Erik consoled himself with the fact that it had been a slow process in the beginning before they'd even become remotely close to each other.

There were some boundaries that Raoul refused to break even as Erik eroded their once firm limits. One of the biggest ones was space. Unless they were in bed, Raoul refused to be close enough for Erik to reach out and touch. It had been subtle at first. Erik would move and it was so immediate that he had barely noticed that Raoul would move as well. He almost found it ironic how it was Raoul now who was so adverse to touch, when it had been Raoul that had torn down his own physical boundaries.

Another boundary was emotion. Raoul had stopped smiling, at least with him. The servants were bestowed with smiles and gratitude, looks they didn't appreciate as much as Erik would have. Besides the slight downturn of lips when Erik pushed his boundaries, Raoul also no longer yelled or got angry. Just like with the progression of finally making eye contact for extended periods though, Raoul was fighting a losing battle. It hardly mattered that most of the emotion he saw now was exasperation and something Erik might call resignation. Erik could deal with resignation. Maybe Raoul had finally taken to heart what he'd said about chasing after him. After all, he was now more intent to keep Raoul by his side than ever before.

And sometimes, more lately than before, Erik could swear that Raoul looked almost happy – even if he was unwilling to feel that way. When he thought Erik wasn't looking, he'd be able to smile and relax, the line of back less rigid than it normally was. Erik was just waiting, waiting for the space to diminish between them, for the silence to be filled, for the looks to hold something more than wariness. He was waiting for the happiness to be untainted.

But, Erik could understand the wariness. He, like Raoul, couldn't seem to convince himself to be happy. It was close and so very nearly there that all he had to do was accept it, but he couldn't. He was constantly on guard. He was waiting for something else to happen, watching Raoul as though they were still enemies, second guessing all of his actions, wondering when he would try to run again because a part of him didn't want to be caught so unawares again even as a part of himself was yelling for him to give Raoul the benefit of the doubt.

He could be nothing but vigilant even as he stopped worrying about Raoul moving across the room or climbing up a tree. Raoul could move further away from him without having Erik calculating the distance they'd be able to both run before they both tired, but the calculations were still there. He still watched. He still worried.

He was waiting for Raoul to fall in love with him, and then everything else would fall into place.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter 27

Word count: 4,541

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Chapter review: I was going to say I wondered why this chapter was horrible to write, but I realized shortly after that it was because it was something akin to the calm before the storm. Things aren't quite resolved yet, and isn't it kind of cute how romantic Erik is thinking that love will fix everything? Poor, poor Erik. Didn't you learn anything from Christine?

Another chapter coming your way. Hopefully it doesn't take two months to write.


	28. to love

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)

Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: Hey it didn't take me two months to update. Success!

Story Note: Final chapter. Let's hope Erik and Raoul don't end their story like L'Homme Qui Rit does. With a chapter title like that, you'd hope not, right?

The separations _are_ time differences. This chapter could be read in two ways I guess: 1) as though the events happened all in one day (or something close to it) or 2) rather spread out between weeks. I choose the latter interpretation.

o.o.o.o

Reluctantly Willing

Chapter 28 - … to love

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Shading his eyes from the glare of the sun, Raoul stared out over the ocean. He'd mostly kept to the forests since Erik had bullied his way back into his life, and even though he heard the ocean from the cottage every day, he'd forgotten just how overwhelming standing so near it could be. He'd forgotten how breathtaking the view was, how absolute its presence was as sound, smell, and feeling assailed the senses.

If he closed his eyes, it would be easy to pretend that he was alone. He kept them open. He'd had enough of solitude to last him a lifetime, and he couldn't deny the fact that as much as Erik watched him, Raoul couldn't help but watch him in return to make sure that he was really there.

He let the small grin show when he saw Erik standing rather defiantly a few feet behind him. As much as Erik had been willing to walk through his estate, he had a distinct aversion to direct sunlight in such an open space. Raoul assumed that vulnerability was a large factor. There was no place to hide with sand all around, an ocean on one side and the forest too far away to do any good.

"You needn't follow me this far." Raoul had to raise his voice in order to be heard.

Erik rolled his eyes, halving the distance between them, feet kicking up sand unnecessarily. He'd known he didn't have to. He didn't _have to_ follow Raoul anywhere, but he did. Moreover, this was the closest he'd seen the younger man to the ocean again and he was certain that meant something, something he had to be present for.

Raoul waited until the unmasked man had stopped before pointing out, "I only wanted to swim."

"At noon." Erik glared at the sun before turning the withering look towards Raoul.

The blonde could only smirk, "I _like_ the sun." Not bothering with the buttons on his shirt, he tugged it over his head. "Are you joining?"

"I haven't any swim clothes," Erik remarked dryly.

Tugging at his pants, Raoul laughed and Erik reveled in the sound. It was only just recently did Raoul begin to laugh again and while there was still tension between them, those moments when Raoul did laugh felt like a welcome call each time.

"I haven't either." As Raoul discarded the rest of his clothing, he ran nude and unashamedly into the ocean.

Erik stared after him; Raoul had been returned to him. It had taken some time, often felt like lifetimes, but Raoul was talking, smiling, and laughing with him again. Yet, just as with everything else, it was simply a proximity of what they'd once been; close but never the same. Erik wondered if going back to that time was even possible anymore.

Would there always be those moments when Raoul looked at him with distrust, when they'd lapse into such uncomfortable silence, it was as though they were enemies still, or when Erik mentally calculated the distance Raoul could reach before he wouldn't be able to catch him? Even with Raoul's change of attitude and as much as those moments were decreasing, the mere fact they existed was enough to disturb Erik's peace of mind. They were still divided; so close, yet nowhere near enough. But, as difficult as it was, he tried not to linger on those discouraging thoughts because Raoul had been more receptive as of late even with Erik growing impatient enough to push harder against those boundaries that Raoul had created.

Raoul cut through the water with easy strokes, glad to force his body to focus on this one task, not letting the fear of the past or the future for that matter mar the cold trying to permeate through his limbs as water enveloped him completely. He realized that feeling he'd had as a child was still there; he wanted to swim to the horizon, swim until he found the nearest ship and chase after it. He almost felt as though he could at the moment.

Glancing back at the shore for just a moment, Raoul saw he'd swum quite a distance already. Erik stood close enough to the water that at times, the waves would crash at his ankles; he stared tensely, tracking his progress. Raoul doubted he even realized he'd moved at all.

Sometimes, when he was being fanciful enough, Raoul imagined that there was a string between them. If he moved a certain distance away, Erik was certain to move closer. It was always the same; he had tested those boundaries and by now knew just how far that string ran. He knew there was a finite distance; yet somehow, it was that same string that had brought Erik back to him even from such great a distance as Paris. He wondered if that string was fate or destiny, maybe even love.

Looking away, Raoul told himself he didn't care about that string or whether or not Erik ended up drenched. He dove down, kicking with all his might and kicked even further down. He kept going until his lungs began to hurt and didn't let up until he feared that he wouldn't make it back to the surface. He was almost right; as quickly as he propelled himself up, by the time he broke through the surface, he was feeling lightheaded. As he gulped down mouthfuls of air, the relief that flooded his body was a feeling he did want to drown himself in. It was simple. Instinctive and uncomplicated. He was alive and that was all that mattered.

He started when he felt hands clamping around his biceps. Struggling to push the hair from his face, Raoul coughed and spluttered as a wave hit them and water went up his nose.

"Erik?" He had a wild look on his face, and Raoul realized belatedly that Erik was the reason he'd inadvertently swallowed water in the first place. The man was barely staying afloat, his erratic motions against the waves almost comical if they hadn't been so far out in the ocean and clinging to each other. Erik had yet to say anything. "Can't you swim?"

Erik let go of him and paddled backwards, further away. He struggled slightly against the waves, as though he wasn't quite sure how to react as wave after wave passed him by. Raoul supposed that the water was a little choppy, but it wasn't anything too challenging.

The only words in explanation Erik had was, "I lost sight of you." He really meant. _I thought you drowned. _And that sentence was enough of a distraction for a wave to pass and make him swallow a mouthful of salty water and drop beneath the waves. He resurfaced before Raoul could even react.

Quickly assessing the situation, it didn't take long for Raoul to make up his mind. Shaking his head, he took pity on the man and swam towards him. He easily grabbed Erik's wrist and headed towards shore. He deemed it easier to swim one handed with the knowledge that he was a strong enough swimmer to support Erik than it would be to let Erik attempt the distance back to shore alone and help him if it were necessary. They'd probably both drown that way.

Erik didn't argue, allowing Raoul to drag him along. He still was swallowing more ocean than he'd like, but it was considerably less than what he knew he would have been swallowing had he tried to make it back alone. He wasn't even sure how he'd made it so far out. One moment he'd been watching from on shore and the next, he was grabbing Raoul.

He'd never had the opportunity to swim in the ocean before and hadn't given thought to what the addition of waves might do to his normally adequate swimming abilities. All he had planned to do was watch that spot of ocean where Raoul had been before diving down. He'd stared a long while, holding his own breath in Raoul's absence. He hadn't even waited for his own air to run out before he was stripping his clothing and racing into the water only to realize belatedly that he'd lost the position where Raoul had been. At least, he thought he had until the blonde resurfaced perfectly alright. Erik had wanted to drown him then, and he would have if he hadn't been passionately cursing Victor Hugo and the ideas that had been planted in his head by his novel.

When they could finally stand up, he waited for Raoul to release him. He didn't and Erik counted this as a victory; Raoul very rarely initiated prolonged contact. It wasn't until the water was at their knees and Raoul realized that Erik was wearing just as much as he was did he let go. He'd done so with a glance at his nude form before releasing as though his very touch burned.

Huffily, Raoul refused to meet his eyes as he stormed towards his clothes. "Do you not know how to swim? You lived by a lake for most of your life."

Embarrassing as it was already, Erik replied heatedly, "Perhaps the differences between an ocean and a lake elude your comprehension. The…"

Raoul bent down to pick up his clothes and Erik momentarily lost his train of thought. He quickly recovered, shouting, "What were _you_ doing going under for so long? Diving for pearls or something?"

The clothes clutched in his arms barely covered his genitals, but Raoul didn't care. Erik had seen him naked numerous times already. It was one of the consequences that occurred when a person never left his side. Raoul scrutinized him.

Erik refused to fidget under that gaze, but it would have been easier if Raoul were glaring or even leering at him. Instead, those blue eyes stayed solely on his face, searching; for what, Erik wasn't sure, but he realized that Raoul had been doing that a lot lately: examined, dissected, and appraised what he said, how he said it, what he did, just on Erik himself. And Erik could only hope that Raoul wasn't displeased with what he saw.

Raoul opened his mouth to say something and stopped. After letting out a long exhale through clenched teeth, he said, "Thank you." He glanced out into the ocean and didn't meet Erik's eyes when he finished, "for coming after me." Turning around abruptly, he strode towards the cottage, not bothering to see Erik's reaction. He dressed as he walked.

For a moment, Erik could only stare after him; then, he quickly picked up his strewn clothing and jogged to catch up to Raoul, making sure to stay a few feet behind him. He was afraid to hope that Raoul hadn't just meant for right now.

Raoul wasn't even certain why he'd said those words. Erik had looked half-drowned standing there in front of him. Besides that fact though, he'd looked healthy and alive and so different from the first time Raoul had seen him naked. Different, but somehow the same: maskless, unashamed, and almost vulnerable despite his capability to hurt him. This was the man he'd nursed back to health and the one who, in a way, nursed him back as well. Erik had left him to die only to come back and almost die trying to save him – even though Raoul could have done well enough without Erik's assistance in such matters. They should be even by now, shouldn't they?

But it wasn't that simple. It could never be that simple.

o.o.o

It was the middle of the night when Raoul found himself wide awake. He'd been deep asleep seconds before, but waking up like this wasn't abnormal.

As usual, Erik's arm was draped over his waist, his breaths caressing the nape of his neck, and his heat providing more warmth than the thin sheet that covered them. He could tell from the way Erik's arm was only loosely on him that he must be asleep; otherwise, that arm would be pulling him closer.

Slipping out of Erik's half-embrace, Raoul cautiously scooted off the bed trying not to move the bed too much. Once standing, Raoul took a moment to look at him. Erik looked peaceful, different when he was asleep than when awake. Raoul knew it was his fault. The older man was normally tense; he was constantly worrying and vigilant. At first, Raoul had been glad to see him suffering in such a small way, and now, well, he wasn't quite sure what he felt.

He was halfway across the room, moving silently across the wooden floorboards, when Erik woke.

He groaned and patted the bed beside him in confusion. He had to roll over before he saw Raoul. "Where are you going?" Erik murmured, the words barely distinct from one another.

Sighing, Raoul gave what Erik could only guess was an exasperatedly fond glance. "I need to relieve myself."

"Again?" Erik nodded before rolling back to his original position, his arm splayed out over Raoul's half of the bed. "Hurry."

Raoul sighed and went to the bathroom. Finishing shortly, he snuck back into the room and slipped into his side of the bed, close to the edge since Erik's arm occupied a lot of space. Erik lifted his arm in invitation, and Raoul peered at him through the darkness. Erik was still half asleep, his eyes closed; he didn't know the significance of what he was asking with this small invitation.

Too many thoughts bombarded Raoul. It was too late at night or too early in the morning for so much to consider: the pros and cons of moving closer, wanting to and not wanting to, scoffing yet so tempted. Raoul was always so laden with thoughts that he never knew why he did what he did any longer. The reasons were all there somewhere. Somewhere buried under the uncertainty and confusion and through all the layers of those reasons that should have convinced him to act otherwise.

He moved closer without a second thought, facing Erik so that he could place his arm over the older man's waist as well. He slid as close as possible, close enough to hear the contented sigh that came from Erik before falling asleep himself.

o.o.o

Erik stretched languidly, waking slowly. It was too early in the morning to be awake; the sun had yet to begin to rise. He was certain that even the servants were still asleep. But half of his bed was cold. Once again, Raoul was not asleep.

"Raoul?" He called aloud before muttering to himself, "Again? How many times in a night…" He paused when there was no answering response. Raoul was usually quick to respond, whether it was some unintelligible moan or an exasperated retort. Smirking, he pushed himself up with some effort. "Did you fall asleep again?" Climbing out of bed, he headed directly for the bathroom.

Empty.

It was only then that he started to worry. He scanned the bathroom a second and third time before walking back into their room. Everything was in its place, except for Raoul. _No_. The word repeated in his head as the worst possible scenario finally filtered through the haze of sleep and disbelief. _No!_

How many months had it been? How many weeks since Raoul had been speaking with him, laughing with him, willingly sleeping in the same bed as him? How many – he couldn't count them.

The whole wall shook when Erik swung the bedroom door open. In the corner of his mind, he noted that something had broken but he didn't have time to care. He was already down the hallway, opening every door on the way to the stairs. They were all empty. He pounded down the stairs and distantly, he heard the others waking because of the noise he was making. At least he supposed so, he couldn't quite be certain over the sound of blood pounding loudly in his ears.

Foregoing checking the ground floor, Erik headed directly to the one place that would tell him everything he needed to know. The stable. It was the only escape; it was the first place Erik would have gone if he were trying to leave. Trying to leave. The thought jarred him. Raoul was going to leave again. If he hadn't already.

On his way to the stable, he focused more on berating himself for wasting so much time going through all those rooms than on what ifs. His mind raced, thinking of all the possible directions Raoul could have taken. He immediately disregarded Paris and that general vicinity as a destination. Raoul wouldn't choose a place Erik knew – he accepted that as fact even though it hurt just to acknowledge it. Raoul was explicitly running away from him. Last night, Erik would have been just as certain that Raoul would be in bed come morning. But he figured that had been the point.

His entrance to the stable was no less violent as his exit from the house. The horses whinnied, the stall doors rattling as they nervously moved about. Erik paid it no mind. Only one thing mattered, and as he scanned every stall, he couldn't quite believe it. All the horses were there.

Had he been wrong? Raoul _could_ have left on foot, but he would never get as far as he could have with a horse. Erik walked deeper into the stable, mind still trying to shuffle through the countless possibilities. And though he knew he should tell the others what had happened – they would probably be willing to help –, he approached Raoul's favorite horse intent on finding the blonde himself. The white stallion had helped him find Raoul the first time he'd disappeared, and Erik was willing to believe that maybe he would help a second time.

So lost in his thoughts and preparations, Erik was already in the stall before he realized that he wasn't alone.

"Raoul."

The blonde had one hand on the saddle and the top of his head pressed against the horse's neck, his face hidden from Erik's view. When Erik moved to try to get a better vantage, the horse refused to cooperate, moving its head to further block its owner. Instead of moving closer, Erik stood between them and the stall door. His body would do little to stop a horse from running through him, but maybe he'd be able to grab the reins or something. The fact that the horse was saddled and ready to go made him more than a little wary. Erik eyed the satchel; he could barely make out some clothes, but knowing Raoul there would be food and money there as well; he'd have everything he needed to start a new life, all contained in one small pack.

Erik wanted to be angry; truly, he did. He wanted to rage at Raoul, threaten him, and remind him that leaving was pointless. He wanted to ask _why_. Why would he want to leave? But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to be angry, couldn't ask those questions because he knew why. Fear could turn to love but hurt and broken trust was another story.

He almost let out a bark of laughter. It was _their_ story. They weren't Gwynplaine and Dea. They were Erik and Raoul. They were a born monster and a well-loved aristocrat. Their ending would be different.

"Did you mean it?" Raoul's voice was muffled, but he knew the slight tremor was still audible.

He'd been ready, had planned it all so that Erik wouldn't figure it out before it was too late. He'd had hours. _Hours_. And, it had been easy. He'd dressed, grabbed his satchel, already pre-packed, grabbed some food and saddled his horse. The motions had been easy, not a single wasted movement because he'd played and replayed it all in his head for weeks now. All that was left was to mount the horse and go. Just go, and he'd be able to disappear completely. He'd be able to start a new life and shape it to be whatever he wanted, completely unlike the days and years that seemed to stretch out before him in this routine Erik and he had somehow fallen into. He hadn't hesitated until that last step; it was as though he'd been rooted to this spot.

Shaking his head, he argued near silently to himself. It was a familiar argument, one he'd put on pause while he'd told himself to bide his time with Erik. "How could you though? There's no way you could've meant it."

"Mean what, Raoul?" Erik said cautiously and wondered just how long Raoul had been out here, how far he could have been while he'd been so ignorantly sleeping.

Raoul turned to him, furious at himself for being unable to leave. Taking two quick strides, he pushed Erik hard. "I'm not Dea!"

Erik stumbled backward out of the stall, just barely managing to stay on his feet. Still, he had to fight the urge to grin; he couldn't ignore the flare of hope that grew within him at hearing Raoul's outburst. "Dea?" Of course Raoul had known.

Raoul took a swing at Erik's face only to be sidestepped, the momentum spinning him so that Erik could grab him from behind and pin his arms down. He screamed to block out anything Erik might have said. "I'm not!" Viciously jerking out of Erik's grip, he stumbled to the ground towards the stall, just barely breaking his fall. "I hate you!" He leaned against the stall door. Dropping his head in defeat, a curtain of blonde hair hiding his face, he whispered to himself, "God, why can't I hate you?"

"Raoul." Erik approached him as though he were a wild animal. He crouched so that they would be eye level, trying to make eye contact so Raoul could see the veracity of his statement. "I left Christine to be with you."

There was no pause in Raoul's response. "I thought that the first time, Erik. I did," he said, voice faint and with a sad smile, angry at himself all over again for that misconception but too tired to scream about it.

Erik could accept that; Raoul didn't trust him. What he couldn't accept was that Raoul would _never_ trust him. "What can I do to make you understand?"

"I don't know." Raoul shook his head and laughed – a disconsolate sound that made Erik flinch from the wrongness of it. "You can't. You just can't erase our past, Erik."

If there was anything Erik had learned from this experience, it was that wishing you'd acted differently in the past was a practice in futility. There was nothing he could do to change the past, but he could change their future. "And if I said I would chase you anywhere you went?"

"You've said that already." Raoul finally looked up at him, pushing his hair back. Seeing his expression, seeing how the determination and stubbornness that should have looked charming and so fitting on someone like Raoul was tainted with resignation made Erik almost believe that the time they'd spent together in the cottage had never happened. Raoul said so sensibly, as though he were stating facts for a situation so removed from his own life, "You're an obsessive person. Once you set your mind to something, you'll do it. I just don't know your motives."

Biting his tongue, Erik reminded himself the only thing that mattered was that Raoul was still here. It didn't matter that all the effort and patience he'd managed to exhibit had all been for nothing. He'd changed everything he'd been from removing the mask to his very behaviors. He'd stopped himself from becoming violent when Raoul had been unreasonable, stopped drawing and composing because he simply couldn't split his attentions, and stopped trying to control everything Raoul did. For nothing.

Apparently, he'd chosen the wrong tactic from the very beginning in approaching Raoul. He would have to be straightforward, and if Raoul ran away, well, at least Erik wouldn't have fooled himself to believe he'd never do so. "I have no idea where Christine is," he pointed out.

Raoul scoffed. "I can't read your mind, Erik."

Erik wracked his brain for facts that might convince Raoul he was being candid in his affections. "I've only ever kissed Christine once, and that was in the opera house before you both left me."

"That was twice." Raoul was quick to point out.

Erik nodded, softly saying, "Yes, yes it was. But after that, not once."

"And you could be lying." Raoul shrugged, discounting that fact just as quickly as the last one. He added, "Not that it matters since if you're going by kisses, then you would still love her more since we've never kissed, Erik."

Dropping the short distance from the crouch to his knees, Erik moved forward and steadied himself with one hand right by Raoul's head so that he couldn't turn away from him. "We can remedy that," he boldly suggested. Making his intentions quite clear, Erik slowly closed the distance between them, searching Raoul's face for any signs of shock. Instead of trying to move away from him though, Raoul stared at him expectantly. Erik briefly wondered if he'd been set up before deciding it didn't matter. He rested his other hand on Raoul's neck, hand caressing the nape of his neck as he gently pulled Raoul forward. He didn't want to do this wrong, but distantly, Erik knew he could stay like this for an eternity: their breaths mingling, Raoul warm and pliant beneath his hand, focusing solely on him, and the tingling in his lips as he could almost feel Raoul's lips against his own even before they'd yet to make contact. He tilted his head slightly and Raoul had yet to close his eyes; he briefly wondered how he could bear to stand his face this close.

When he finally pressed his lips against Raoul's, he lingered there, unwilling to part even though Raoul wasn't kissing back. He wasn't surprised; a small part of him was glad that Raoul hadn't tried to make the kiss something more. It would've reminded him too much of his first kiss – something violent and desperate. He didn't want that between Raoul and him. He pressed his lips against Raoul's softly a second time and third time, just to feel them against his own before retreating a short distance, far enough to be able to look at Raoul without straining his eyes.

Raoul's expression hadn't changed.

"Well?"

Raoul licked his lips and Erik's eyes immediately zeroed in on that action. "I'm not convinced." He shrugged off Erik's hand, and Erik did his best to hide his disappointment. Falling back into a crouch to give Raoul more space, he let out a frustrated breath. Raoul continued, either not seeing or not caring about his reaction. "I thought I would be, but I'm not." Raoul's lips still tingled though. His stomach was still clenched tight with the thought that Erik had actually kissed him. Three times. And again, he wanted to give in, tell Erik that nothing but this moment mattered. But there were very few moments when he didn't want to just give in to Erik; that had been the problem from the very beginning.

The stricken expression so plainly clear on Erik's face almost made Raoul falter.

"There's no way for you to know, is there?" Erik asked rhetorically, the frustration affecting his tone. He stood up and Raoul followed suit. "You don't want to know," his voice growing louder as his already fragile control broke, "You just want to push me away."

Raoul laughed again, brokenly. He bit his bottom lip. His eyes shone with unshed tears and he didn't rise to the challenge. He nodded, a self-reproaching smile that was too difficult to contain in place. Quietly, he agreed, "Yes, Erik. That's exactly what it is. I don't want to know."

His reaction removed all possibility of Erik being able to build momentum in his rant. Instead, he thought back to the moment he left Raoul and every moment in between, searching for confirmation or even contrary instances to substantiate the realization that was solidifying in his mind. "You do love me," Erik said breathlessly. His allegation, his bluff from the very beginning had been right. It was not all lost; Raoul had stayed because he loved him. Then again, Erik wasn't quite sure what that changed since Raoul had left that first time despite the fact that he loved him. Regardless, he pressed, "It's not about knowing. You're too afraid to do anything about your love."

"I," Raoul spat out, leaning forward to punctuate his point, "_I _would do everything and anything for love. Don't ever say otherwise."

Erik actually hesitated. He wanted to refute that statement, but knew he'd chosen the wrong thing to say. Although there was cause for joy in the fact that Raoul hadn't denied his love, the veracity of Raoul's claim made him rethink his approach because it was irrefutable; Raoul _would _do anything for love. He'd support, chase, and live in the same house with an emotionally unavailable woman. He'd let a man blinded by his own obsessions think he could be happy anywhere but by Raoul's side and then continue to live on because that was exactly what he'd been told to do. He'd do anything and yet, that had been the cause of his suffering.

"Well, you're quitting now."

Raoul stared at him in disbelief. "What do you want me to do? Continue this farce?" He motioned violently in the air. "You want me to stay here and pretend nothing's wrong? Fool myself into believing that you're here for me and just for me?"

"Yes." Erik placed a hand on Raoul's arm to curb his gesticulations, but Raoul knocked it away. Undeterred, Erik continued, "That's exactly what I'm asking you to do because I _am _here for you."

"So, I keep you here with that fragile, _shallow_ happiness wondering whether it's going to be: an hour, a week, months, years," his voice rose with every word, "before you suddenly realize again, you suddenly decide that I'm not the one you wanted all along!"

"God, Raoul." Erik scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes pleading with Raoul to understand. "I'll take whatever you'll give me. One more day, one more minute just to convince you that no matter where you are, I'll be there too. I'll always _want_ to be there."

Erik's plaintive supplication made Raoul pause. He wanted to believe, as though hearing the words come directly from Erik was enough of a balm to ease the worries away, but Erik was known to have larger machinations than simply fooling one man into believing he was in love.

Raoul was so scared, too scared to let himself believe this could be true. The past few weeks had been torturous. He'd allowed himself to believe that Erik had been there just for him. He truly had, slowly but surely burying his fears under an already well-practiced weight of denial. And in the end, weeks ago, he'd compared Erik's actions to their time before. He'd compared the Erik who'd left him to the Erik who'd promised to stay, and there simply hadn't been enough of a difference.

The only difference had been Raoul himself, and maybe that was what mattered. What if the defining part of their relationship wasn't how Erik felt about him? What if it was Raoul's feelings that dictated it? Erik had left after Raoul had been quickly coming to the realization that Erik meant a lot to him. And now, Raoul was truly in love yet withheld it from Erik and the man stayed. It seemed that when the opportunity arose for Erik to inflict the worst pain, he would do so. And now that there could be no doubt that Raoul loved Erik, what was to happen if he gave into the tempting impulse to just accept that Erik supposedly loved him?

"Raoul," Erik held his face between his hands, too fast a movement for Raoul to have moved away from. He forced their eyes to meet, and Raoul had a moment to wonder how Erik could have gotten so close. He could feel his cheeks burning up and his chest hurt with the effort it took to just not melt into his touch. Erik spoke unhurriedly, putting as much of himself in the words that he could manage. "You run. I'll follow. You hide, and I'll find you. You don't believe my words." He shook his head slightly. "I'll say them every day. You don't believe my actions. I'll be here to show you constantly. I'll do anything you want."

Raoul almost found himself nodding, but forced himself to stay still. It was becoming harder and harder to rebuff Erik's affections, true or not. He managed to reply the same time as Erik amended, already expecting Raoul's reaction.

"Then leave me alone." "Anything but that."

"You'll do anything?" Raoul repeated.

"Anything but that," Erik stroked Raoul's cheeks with his thumbs before letting him go, and Raoul finally felt like he could think again. "I'll do anything but leave you."

Through the warring emotions within him, Raoul let out a short bark of disbelief. "_Again_, you mean."

Erik winced, sucking in a deep breath. He momentarily wondered what might have been had he not left in the first place. Raoul loved him; he had to wonder just for how long that had been true. It couldn't have been the entire time. Could it?

"Alright." Raoul ordered, "Then, never lie to me."

Taken aback for a moment, Erik was slow to answer. He nodded. "I'll never lie to you." If that was all it took for Raoul to believe him, Erik would never let another lie pass his lips.

Still disbelieving, Raoul asked, "And you'll never leave me again?"

Erik replied firmly, "Yes, Raoul. Again. I won't leave you again. I simply hadn't realized then."

"And this sudden epiphany occurred…?" Raoul scoffed even though what he wanted to yell was for Erik to stop looking earnest and saying all the things he wanted to hear.

"Because I'd left to start with." Erik was truly at a loss for what to do. Raoul was simply not listening to reason. He wasn't used to this kind of argument. The urge to physically make Raoul see reason was so tempting, but he held himself back, his mind finding the only thing left. "You _are_ my Dea."

"I hate that book," Raoul retorted and meant it. He hated that Erik was his Gwynplaine, leaving him for another woman and only coming back in the end when it was too late. It was too late. Perking up suddenly with false cheer, he added vindictively, "Then perhaps we should've drowned in the ocean."

Erik scowled. Abruptly, he grabbed Raoul and dragged him towards the entrance of the stable.

"What are you doing?" Raoul struggled in vain. Erik's vice-like grip was bordering on painful and his struggles were making it worse.

Copying Raoul's tone of detached reason, he answered, "If what it takes to prove my love for you is both of us drowning in the ocean, then _we'll drown_."

Raoul dragged his feet until Erik finally stopped near the doorway. "Are you insane?" He was certain Erik would have followed through with the action.

"No." Erik shot back, raising his eyebrow, "In love."

"Damn it, Erik." Raoul tore away from him, taking a few steps to create some distance between them. He couldn't do this. His emotions were shifting too much, he couldn't keep up. "Can't you understand? I don't know how to love you like I did anymore. I'm too afraid, too hurt, just too damn tired to love!"

Erik shook his head. He didn't believe him, couldn't accept what he'd said. Sure, Raoul might be tired, and he was certainly hurting, but from what he'd seen of Raoul, he would never be too tired to love. "Then at least tell me."

"Tell you what?" Raoul asked suspiciously.

"How did you love me? What did you love about me?" Erik asked in all seriousness.

Raoul, wide-eyed, took a step back. "What?"

Erik moved closer. "What did you love about me? I want to at least experience it once."

A slow shake of Raoul's head was his only answer. He'd never said the words aloud, didn't know what would happen if he did.

Clenching his fists, Erik hated himself a little for how hard it was to say what he now knew he had to say. "After all the miles I've travelled and all the chasing across the country, I love you. I love your laugh and how I can tell almost everything you're thinking without you having to voice it." He took a step towards Raoul, but Raoul took a corresponding one back even as they maintained eye contact. "I love it when you're barefoot and walking across the estate or when you're concentrating on your work and you don't realize you've smudged ink on your face. I love that you care and you _try_ so hard to be good when it's obvious it comes as second nature to you." Erik moved closer and Raoul forgot to keep the distance between them. "I love the absurdly long time you spend on your hair every morning and I love the way you fit against me when we're in bed."

Raoul couldn't bring himself to look away even though he knew that just looking at Erik during his impassioned speech affected him more than he thought possible. He blinked uncertainly before putting to words thoughts he normally shied away from. "I-I loved your eyes." He said slowly, eyes darting from feature to feature on Erik's face. "And your grin." Erik grabbed Raoul's hand and raised it so that he could trace his fingers across the features as he spoke. Lost in the past, his eyes were distant and a little sad. "I loved your voice." He trailed his fingers on Erik's lips. "I loved the way you always raised your eyebrow at me," he grinned a little as he said it. As his hands traced over Erik's deformity, his eyes cleared a bit. "I love how you aren't perfect but pretend to be anyway." He continued touching Erik even though his words no longer corresponded, not realizing he'd stopped speaking about the past. "I love our afternoon walks, love the way you worry about me and the way you're horrible at hiding interest in the things I do. I love your passion." Raoul sighed, his hands falling to his sides. "I lov-loved you."

Erik hadn't missed the way Raoul had lapsed into the present tense, and even though Raoul had sounded so certain in the end that the feeling had ceased, Erik knew he was wrong. "When did you give up on me?"

"I…" Raoul shook his head. He'd _tried _to give up on loving Erik and had failed. He had loved Erik, and despite his better judgment, he still did. He didn't want to give up again; he didn't want to go, not after he'd experienced life with Erik, not after he'd slept in the man's arms and finally kissed him. And Erik's declarations of love and devotion for him were enough to make even thinking about leaving painful. Every word tore at his resolve, tore at his fears and uncertainties until there was nothing but tatters. Raoul didn't know what would be left if Erik continued.

Erik grabbed him then, forced his eyes to focus on him, on the present. "I love you." Raoul let out a small whimper, and Erik continued, "Just say the words and I will do anything for you."

Raoul knew Erik wouldn't let this go; he'd be persistent and annoying. He'd ask over and over again and Raoul couldn't keep fighting; he didn't have the energy and will that Erik had. Erik _was _obsessive and… Raoul finally let himself hope and pray that Erik would never stop obsessing over him.

Hesitantly, Raoul reached up to grab onto Erik's arms and just as hesitantly let himself believe, let his guard down. If Erik did hurt him again, he was right, there was always the ocean. He whispered, "Stay" fervently hoping Erik would keep his promise to never lie to him.

Erik pulled him closer still, so that Raoul's arms reached behind him.

Raoul pressed his face against the crook of his neck, hugging Erik as tightly as he could manage, unwilling to let go. "Stay with me," he said a second time, more forcefully.

Erik hung on to Raoul just as desperately. His voice was rough when he answered, "Forever."

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End Chapter 28

Word count: 6,820

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Story review: Could that have taken any longer to finish? I struggled so damn hard to get them to stay together. Raoul and his insecurities went haywire in the end and Erik was totally running out of things to possibly do to convince him. I'm not pleased at all with the ending, had to rewrite it only about five times. :( I was just trying to stay true to the title of the fic.

What's with all the hugs ending fics?


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